


Nothing left to lose

by Writer207



Series: Nothing left to lose [1]
Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst and Feels, Found Family (Sort Of), Gen, I'm lazy and want to post this as is, Original Character(s), Post-Apotheosis (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), To Be Edited, just a crew of survivors, looking for a cure, survivor camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2020-11-08 12:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 57,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20835452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer207/pseuds/Writer207
Summary: It was an easy mission: they got to the city, grabbed some medicine and tech, and headed back to the base. Yet, an infected person who would not sing needlessly complicated their current lives.In the meantime, Paul - struggling not to sing and regain control - finally has some luck when this group takes a chance on him and allows him to come along and become better.(Post-apotheosis survival story with a multitude of OC's and a shining role for Paul, especially)





	1. Portland

**Author's Note:**

> please bear with me, this is largely unedited, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless

The group of four walked on the abandoned highway. They believed this may be safer - even though they were more exposed here than in the forests and National Park the highway ran through, but on the highway they could see them coming. Some of the infected weren't playing a part in any musical and could easily silently sneak up on them, only to start singing when it's too late. It's much easier to spot those sneaky bastards if they first needed to step out of the forest and onto the concrete.

And if they did sing, they always sang along with a loud and very audible voice. They did not need to fear not noticing an infected on their way back to the base camp.

The camp needed medical supplies and specific small tech, which could be found in a hospital. Luckily for them, Portland was only two days away on foot and they found three volunteers to go out on this dangerous mission.

Leighton had to go, no matter what. He was responsible for the medicine in the camp and needed to be sure they took what they needed for their ill acquaintances. He also needed to go because the three scientists of the camp only trusted him to bring the right tech back from the hospital as well.

But Leighton wasn't from this state; he had been lucky to have found the camp. He needed a guide, someone who knew the way in Portland.

The local elementary school teacher, Callie, was brave enough to help him find the hospital once they left the highway and entered the city.

Rather fortunately, Callie had an overprotective father with a good eye, a love for hunting rifles and the biggest fear of losing his daughter. Martin had held on to the same rifle since the infection spread across the American continent and he's been responsible for killing no less than fifty infected, if you were to believe his drunken rants. Either way, he wasn’t going to let Callie go to Portland without any protection. They weren't necessarily in safe hands, but they would be safer if than if they didn't bring someone along who was actually willing to shoot someone's brains out.

That makes three. But they - rather, Callie - couldn't leave without Shay. The twelve-year-old was the newest member of the camp, only escaping Portland after surviving on soft drinks and chocolate bars for two months. Callie had been the one who found her, and now Shay had basically become Callie's shadow. Wherever she would go, Shay had to come along. Though Martin would rather leave the girl in the camp, even he understood the girl was traumatized and only felt comfort in his daughter's presence.

So the group went to Portland, to find it completely silent. Not a single soul was in the city. If the infected had been here, they had already moved on. Most of their musicals were touring productions with limited runs in each city, only really staying around for long enough to look through the city, find possible survivors, infect them and move on. By now, the most recent group that passed through was probably headed for Seattle now.

Still, there could be a small group waiting around for more victims. A percentage of the bigger touring production could always stay behind, a group that did not do much unless they saw any activity. They were silent and it was easy to run into them; travelling was always a risk.

But they didn't come across any infected. There were no signs; no singing, no humming, nothing that even sounded like the infected were close to them. The four easily stuffed their bags with the necessary medicine and Leighton put some tech for the scientists in the bag as well.

It had taken them two days’ worth of travel for not even three hours of work in the hospital. Now it was time to return to one of the last safe spaces on the west coast of the United States. So the group of four walked on the abandoned highway. Martin walked in the front with his gun pointed at the far distance and his eyes never resting on one spot for too long. Callie and Shay walked in the middle and carried most of the medicine. Leighton walked at the back, often turning his head to see whether they were followed, and in his back the technology the scientists demanded. He was lucky it did not weigh as much and wasn't as big as he had imagined.

They were about twenty minutes outside of Portland when Shay found someone in the forest around the highway.

He was alone, or so it seemed. He sat on his knees and did not do much. He had his hands pressed against his ears to block out some sound. One hand shot to his mouth, to cover this as well. Covering the mouth seemed to prioritize covering the ears.

He could be dangerous. He was probably infected. But still, Shay was intrigued.

"Callie, look!”

Callie obeyed and looked at the person Shay pointed out to her. Because Shay had spoken loudly, it wasn't just Callie who spotted the man.

Martin immediately moved himself between his daughter, the girl and the man who sat more than several yards away from them and who had not yet spotted them.

"We'd better get rid of him now we can," he said and took aim.

Shay did not agree with that strategy. Callie managed to keep the volume of the child's voice low enough so as not to disturb that strange man. And Leighton did not side with Martin.

"Wait a second," Leighton said as he watched the infected man struggle. "He's alone."

"So?"

"Infected aren't normally alone."

"It could be a trap," Martin posited, not moving the gun. He was more than ready to fire the killing blow.

"If it were a trap, he'd be singing already and we'd be surrounded," Leighton said. He frowned. Even from afar, he could see the possibly infected man shivering. There was something off about this picture, but Leighton could not see what it was. "Something's not right."

Martin shrugged. "All the more reason to kill him before he kills us.“

He was about to shoot when Shay ran away from the group, right in the path of Martin’s gun and straight towards the man. Callie immediately went after her, and Martin did not want to shoot while there was a chance he would hit his daughter. Shay slowed down when she was about two yards away - fear and excitement hit her at once. He still had not noticed what was going on. He had closed his eyes and leaned slightly forward, his hands pressed against his mouth as if something vile would escape if he didn't press it tightly. From this close, Shay saw him shivering - were infected ever cold? He didn't wear much protection from the oncoming cold of the fall - he only wore a business suit and smelled horridly.

"Hello," she said.

The man was terrified. He almost fell over and quickly stood to his feet. His eyes were wide open now, his breath rigid, and he stumbled away from her. Not necessarily because he was afraid of her, but maybe because he was afraid of himself.

"It's okay," Shay said fearlessly, "I'm not going to hurt you."

The man stared at her, hands still at his mouth. He then noticed Callie, and the two men who stood by the side of the road. The man looked at Martin and turned towards him, standing tall. He made eye contact with Martin - he must have - and gave the older man every chance to hit him.

Shay did not give Martin the same chance. She ran in front of Paul to stop Martin from killing this random infected man. This man then tried to step aside several times, to shake off Shay, so Martin could do what he wanted to do. He did not succeed, because Shay was hell-bent on keeping him alive.

"Shay, come here," Callie said with a hurried tone. She herself was too afraid and uncertain of the infected to come any closer than four yards. "We should move on."

"Can we keep him?" Shay then asked. Callie had no clear answer ready and glanced at Leighton and Martin, who likewise did not know what to say. Even the infected was taken aback by this proposal.

“He’s infected,” Martin shouted at her. “He’s better off dead!”

“But you’re keeping my uncle, and he’s infected and singing!” Shay shouted back. “This one’s trying not to sing and you’re not bringing him back?”

She did have a point - her uncle had been captured and was used for testing as a live infected specimen, and unlike this man, he did not attempt to fight the urges of the Hive. Still, caution was their friend in these dark times.

“Shay,” Leighton began, “you need to understand, he could be dangerous.”

“The ones you’re keeping are dangerous,” Shay said, growing increasingly angry at their behavior. “He is not singing!” 

Leighton sighed. “Shay—”

He couldn’t keep her attention. The girl turned her head away from the two men and looked straight at the infected. If she was afraid, she did not show it. At that moment, the man appeared more afraid than she was.

“Do you want to sing?” she asked him.

The guy who didn’t like to sing shook his head to answer. He still did not want to risk a single sound escaping his lips. Not so much because Martin might kill him for it, but because he could never forgive himself if he lost some of the control he had just regained.

“You’re covering your mouth so you don’t sing, right?” Shay asked. She took one step towards him.

The man nodded and readjusted his hands into a more comfortable position.

“Can you promise you won’t hurt us?”

The man did not have an immediate answer. He hesitated, but eventually half-heartedly nodded. This still did not make Shay feel unsafe; she just saw him as a guy struggling to be free and trying his hardest, but not being able to guarantee he won’t fall back into the infection’s forced habits. But he would try, and that was all Shay needed to know. 

During this exchange, the others remained silent and watched the infected give his answers.

“Not good enough,” Martin said. He cocked his gun and took aim again. Before he could shoot, Leighton pushed down the barrel so any bullet would hit the ground.

“Martin, hey,” Leighton said. He came even closer to put a hand on his shoulder. “Not yet.”

Martin glared at Leighton in disbelief. “You can’t be serious!”

He had rightfully assumed Leighton’s perspective had shifted. While Leighton still believed this guy could be dangerous, his perception slightly shifted. The man had not only acknowledged their presence, but he had answered the questions and had portrayed a certain level of awareness of his surroundings and self-control. Especially this last factor was important in Leighton’s reasoning. If the scientists back at the camp could ask this man some questions and put him through testing, maybe they could use him to create an effective cure.

“We can try,” Leighton said. Neither Callie nor Martin were happy with this decision, but at least Callie trusted Leighton’s judgment and she would hate to let down Shay, who was overjoyed at the idea of getting her way and bringing this man to the camp. Only Martin couldn’t 

“Under strict conditions!” Martin said.

Leighton nodded. “Of course.”

“Or I’ll kill him.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Leighton turned to the man, who had followed the conversation with wide eyes and disbelief. 

“Are you coming?”

Still shocked that this opportunity had really been given to him, the man slowly walked to the road, careful not to trip on anything or passing any obstacles in this forest that would force him to remove his hands from his mouth. He safely made it to the road and the group continued their way. The group of four had become a group of five, with the infected trailing behind them and Martin keeping an eye on him instead of on the road ahead. 


	2. Campfire

What the hell just happened?

Paul wasn’t quite sure how or why, but he was now following four people because a little girl insisted he come along. She had to be the bravest child he met since the infection spread. She reminded him of Alice.

_Alice…_

Her voice echoed in his head. _(I’m not your girl anymore~)_

_No! Stop that!_

But it didn’t stop.

#

He wasn’t free. Not in the slightest. He was just a mess who somehow was at the right place at the right time. 

How _did _he get away? He was traveling with at least forty others if there weren’t more. One big touring production roaming around Oregon and arriving back in Portland to see if anyone else needed to be infected. But Paul got away. They weren’t looking. He stopped walking, the others went ahead as if nothing was wrong. Paul wanted to move right along, but something had stopped him. Something he hadn’t known for two months now. His free will.

He couldn’t stand for too long before the Hive made him walk again. He couldn’t change that, but he could change the direction. Instead of going up to Portland, he’d walk around it. He didn’t know why he did that. It just happened.

The distance between him and the other members of this touring production grew. The music in his head, the ever-present music and lyrics, faded. It wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t blaring in his head and blocking out other thoughts - _his _thoughts. 

And there, in that forest, he stood still and plainly said, “I don’t like musicals”.

It was a relief to still be able to express this thought. But the Hive heard, and only then it realized that Paul had wandered away from the group and it had no idea where he was, because Paul didn’t know where he had ended up and thus could not share that information with the Hive. 

The struggle began. Music was cranked up, a song chosen specifically for him. He wouldn’t sing; this wasn’t meant for him to sing, but to remind him to return to the group and behave himself. Naturally, he didn’t listen, but the noise was deafening. Then the Hive picked another song; one perfect for his situation. A song that he was supposed to sing.

He did not want to, though. 

And then _they_ were there. Four people, three of whom wanted to take a chance on him. It was a nice gesture and he followed, though he couldn’t tell why. Maybe he wanted to stay with them because he wanted non-infected people around him. Maybe being around them helped him with his problem. Maybe he just didn’t want to disappoint Shay. But he followed.

#

And he walked a little behind them - he couldn’t forgive himself if he were to lose control and not at least give them the few seconds they might need to run. They didn’t really come closer to him, either, except for Shay. She sometimes slowed down, but Callie was quick to keep her close. They kept a close eye on him. 

After walking with them for a couple of hours, he believed he had their entire family dynamics figured out. Of course it was impossible to figure out a family within this short span, but assumptions were commonplace, so he was just going with what he observed until he was proven wrong.

Martin looked like the grandfather of the group. Leighton could have been this, too, but while he was just starting to grey, Martin’s hair was already silver. Paul also attributed his protectiveness to his age; he made sure everyone followed and that Paul wasn’t doing anything funny. He held a rifle and would not hesitate to shoot anyone to protect his people. Paul would not stop him if Martin were to turn his gun on him.

Leighton mainly kept an eye on Paul, so Martin could focus on the road ahead. Small streaks of gray broke through his black hair. While Martin only saw the threats, Leighton showed more empathy and care towards the group, and to a certain extent, to Paul as well. He especially seemed to look after Callie and Shay.

They could be together. It was always possible they were good friends. Paul went with the latter explanation. Callie seemed afraid to do anything but restrict Shay. She definitely did not like to be out here - nobody did - but her fear seeped through in every moment wherever the other members still seemed somewhat relaxed.

And Shay… she was brave. There was no other adjective Paul could use to describe her. She hung around Callie most of the time, so it was safe to assume they either were a mother and daughter, or they developed such a bond. If Callie was the mother, Shay had to have been adopted - she and Callie did not look alike at all. He stayed well behind them. Again, he wouldn’t want to lose control when walking next to them, and he did not mean to intrude. He spent most of his time on auto-pilot, walking behind them as he retreated in his mind.

The sun was setting when they arrived at the midway campsite. It was a little off the road, a small cleared-out area with a fire pit and a couple of sleeping bags under a shelter big enough for four people. This is where they had slept last night and where they would sleep tonight as well. 

Paul stayed at the side while the others got to work. Callie and Shay cleared the area from the fallen leaves to place the sleeping bags. Leighton placed their gathered medicine and tech where the sleeping bags were placed and set out to gather firewood. Martin did not do anything except keeping his eyes on Paul, who had folded his arms kept his mouth closed.

Paul looked at the ground around him. There were twigs and small branches, and he bent over to grab the smallest one. 

“Stop that,” Martin said, drawing the attention of the others. That man would take every opportunity to shoot Paul. Paul straightened his back again held his hands at the height of his chest, the twig in his hand, briefly making eye contact with Martin before looking at Leighton.

Leighton picked up on what was going on.

“He can help,” Leighton said. “Put the gun down.”

Martin begrudgingly lowered the gun. Paul bent over again to collect the twigs in his general area. He dumped what he found in the fire pit and continued on until Leighton told him they had enough. At that point, Paul stood aside again with his arms folded.

The fire was going now, the sleeping bags were laid out and the food was being prepared. It wasn’t much, but it was better than what most people without a permanent shelter had. A can of beans with some sliced bread that hadn’t spoiled yet. At least they had a meal for now. Had they eaten while they were walking? If they hadn’t they must have been looking forward to this meal. Night had fallen when the meal was done. They placed the beans in four bowls and kept a small amount in the can. They put one slice of bread on top of it and Shay came closer to Paul.

“Here,” Shay said.

Paul glanced from her face to the can and the bread back to Shay’s face. She was looking at him expectantly. He slowly shook his head. 

She frowned. “You don’t want it.” And Paul nodded. 

It’s not that he truly did not want it. He just didn’t need it. Since his infection, he hadn’t needed to eat or sleep, he hadn’t needed to change his clothes or moderate his temperature. Paul was quite sure his breathing was just an old habit he hadn’t broken yet - he definitely did not need it, what with an alien substance controlling and sustaining him.

He hated to be dependent on it. He could eat, but if not eating meant that Shay would get more nutrients, he would gladly not touch it. 

Shay returned to the group and ate it. Paul watched them eat from the four yards that stood between him and these people. Nothing much eventful happened, though Leighton seemed concerned about Callie’s health.

“Are you sure you took enough of it?” Leighton asked her. Callie nodded.

“I’m certain,” Callie responded. She took one pill and swallowed it with a bite of bread.

“It doesn’t seem like there will be enough,” Leighton then said, glancing at the pile of medication. 

“If she says it will be enough, then it will be enough,” Martin grumbled from the other side of the fire. Leighton left Callie alone after this. Peace returned to the group as they ate their meals in silence.

Paul spent his time in his head mostly. With his body facing the fire and his eyes on the ground, it was easy to close himself off from the outside world.

He closed his eyes and focused. He shouldn’t be looking for this but maybe… He ought to try. 

There was music. That was inevitable, of course there would be music. But it wasn’t as strong. Somehow the volume had been dialed down to a reasonable level. Yes, it was distracting from time to time, but there was room for critical and free thought. There was a choice. He did not _want _to sing, so he did not sing. The lyrics were still crystal clear, despite the volume lowering. 

It comforted him. He wasn’t free yet, but he could manage it. That was an important step. He managed it. And when it almost overwhelmed him again, he closed his eyes and thought of Emma.

That great woman. Emma, the girl he felt like spending the rest of his life with, if she wanted to. The girl who was with him through the entirety of his journey. Emma, whose words still echo in his mind. _So don’t you let them. _It was a little too late for that, but as long as he was in control, he wouldn’t let them have that amount of control again. _Don’t you let them._

He hoped she was doing okay. 

“Hello.”

Paul jumped away from the tree - if he still could feel his heart, it would beat at 200 per minute. 

It was Shay. That girl was quite good at sneaking up on him. When he felt good to talk, he should really explain to her he didn’t like being snuck on.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a hushed tone. “I startled you again, didn’t I?”

Paul nodded. Maybe he also shot her an annoyed look. He couldn’t be sure.

He looked at the camp. Callie, Martin, and Leighton had already crawled into their sleeping bags and were fast asleep. It seemed Shay had also already laid in her sleeping bag, but that she’d gotten out to talk to him. Paul frowned. She should be getting some sleep.

“What were you thinking about?” she then asked him.

Paul shrugged half-heartedly. What didn’t he think about? Emma, the Hive, his condition… nothing crossed his mind that did not apply to his current situation.

“Sounds like a lot,” Shay responded. “Are you okay?”

Paul shook his head. How could he be okay when he’s been living his literal worst nightmare for the past two months? 

“Neither are we,” Shay said. If there was something else she wanted to say, she didn’t do so. Paul wasn’t going to ask for it, either.

“You’re—” Shay paused. “You’re really not going to hurt us, right?”

Paul shrugged with a melancholic look in his eyes. Hopefully, she was smart enough to figure out he did not want to hurt them in the slightest, but that it was out of his control.

Shay stared at him for a while, sometimes glancing at Paul and often times looking away.

“Can I tell you a story?” 

Paul nodded.

And she talked. She was barely able to keep her eyes from brimming with tears, but she marched through the story like a brave soldier. She had come to Portland for her birthday; she’d recently turned twelve. The infection spread from Hatchetfield and the government told everyone to stay indoors. She and her family stayed in their room in the Franklin Hotel. Those who stayed eventually joined the Hive, those who ran met a similar fate. She was running with her family and others - in the confusion, she got separated from her parents and everyone else. Nobody must have seen her hide; it saved her life. She lived off of what she found in supermarkets that hadn’t been looted and hadn’t expired yet. She couldn’t cook, so her diet consisted mostly of candy bars. 

Paul’s eyes started brimming during that explanation as well. How could she tell it for so long without really bursting into tears?

“Can I get a hug?”

_Sorry, what now?_

Paul had no time to react when the girl ran to him and clasped her arms around his waist. He eventually placed one hand on the back of her head and the other on her back. While he normally wouldn’t like something like this, this was good. This was good.

At that moment, he knew he had to actively try to become better. Not seek out the Hive anymore, try to repress the music and lyrics. He couldn’t lose the control he had regained. Shay somehow had become quite attached to him; he had to be honest, he’d grown fond of her, too. That, or he did not want this child to be taken as her parents had been. 

She hadn’t grown attached to his personality. She couldn't have. She probably loved the idea that if he could fight the Hive, her parents could, too. He didn’t have the heart to bring up this topic and to shatter her hopes. It was good to have hope. Besides, some scientists were working on a cure, if he hadn’t misheard this. There might be real hope for her parents and everyone else.

Shay let go of him and took, a good long look at him.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. She turned around to return her sleeping bag.

“Paul,” he said. Shay whipped her head back to him, eyes wide and mouth open. Paul couldn’t believe it, either. Yet, he continued.

“My name,” he said. “It’s Paul. I’m Paul.”

A bright smile broke on Shay’s face. 

“Goodnight, Paul,” she said. “Thanks for the hug.” He only nodded at her with a friendly smile on his face - that was enough talking for one day. At least he knew he could say that little without breaking into song. He ought to push the limit a little further tomorrow. He ought to prolong his speaking a little with each passing day. That should keep him occupied and away from possible darker thoughts. 

As Shay crawled into her sleeping bag, a dreadful tone started to play in Paul’s head. The war song echoing in his mind.

The Hive sent him a warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> war song = America's Great Again


	3. The drums

The next day started for the group at the crack of dawn, when none of them could say asleep because the sun shone. For Paul, that was a whole different story. He had been subjected to his mind while the others slept and thus has been peaceful, even for a little while. 

They filled up the sleeping bags and places them in the shelter again. Martin had immediately grabbed his rifle and pointed it at Paul - while he understood and welcomed it, it was getting old. Luckily, there was Shay to keep him occupied.

“How are you today?”

Paul shrugged. It was hard to tell. The entire night, he had been awake, just like every other night - but he had a bit of his freedom back and do, his thoughts kept him occupied with maybes and what-ifs. He was certain the Hive was coming for him, and that they would immediately take Shay, Leighton, Callie, and Martin as well. He didn’t warn them - he didn’t want to ruin their sleep, nor did he want to wake them up if the Hove was just trying with him.

Because that was a possibility as well. The Hive was playing him to slowly turn him insane. He couldn't let that happen - even though last night, it worked perfectly in the Hive’s favor.

“That’s okay,” Shay responded. “I hope you’re good today, Paul.”

“Paul?” Martin wondered, a bit of disgust in his voice. “You gave it a name?”

“It’s his name,” Shay said. Martin gave her an eye-roll while Callie and Leighton shot her concerned looks.

“It is,” Paul said in defense of Shay. “I told her.”

He had not expected that him speaking would be such a big deal for these people. They looked at him, with a shocked look on their faces. They had not expected it.

“Really?” Leighton eventually asked him after he’d gotten over the initial shock. Paul nodded affirmatively. 

“He doesn’t talk much,” Shay said. Martin rolled his eyes at that answer.

“Of course he doesn’t, he sings.” 

“Let’s get going,” Leighton said, in the hopes of deterring them from continuing the topic. He led the group away from their small camp and the argument died down, even though Shay and Martin glared at one another. 

They walked as before; Martin and Leighton walked in the front while Callie and Shay followed, while Paul walked a couple of paces behind them. Often times, Paul looked behind him in paranoia. He believed he heard the drums and turned his head, but nobody was there. Yet. Or maybe not at all. The drums were in his head, but it wasn’t the Hive. This was his paranoia, his anxiety playing them over and over again, just as the alarm would be stuck in his head every time they held a fire drill in high school. 

This time, the alarm were the drums, pounding in his ears and driving him insane. He couldn’t let it get to his head. But how to do this when you don’t feel confident enough to talk about it or when you have nothing else to think about because it consumes your thoughts? At least the environment of the abandoned highway was a calming presence.

The day crept by; morning grew into noon and they ate a small snack on the way. 

And he heard the drums again. Paul tried to dismiss it - it was in his head, he shouldn’t think about it. This time, it did not fade away after a while to reappear again. No, this time it went on and on. The soft pounding of a drum, a song of even one line of music on repeat. Only one drawn-out vowel and otherwise no lyrics; a tune again placed in his head against his will. A chill went down Paul’s spine.

The war song.

This had become the de facto song to perform while going to infect an enormous amount of people, or when they were closing in. Even the non-infected population was familiar with the tune that struck fear in the hearts. It meant they were found out. It meant it was time to go.

And Paul was hearing it.

This was different than last night. This was louder. This was not just a warning anymore.

They hadn’t come in the night. But they were coming now.

No. Wait.

_Were they?_

He needed to check. It wasn’t very smart, but he had to know.

He focused on the drum, on the long sounds, on the infected that were undoubtedly singing this now. He tapped to the rhythm with his hand to his side. He managed to hide it from the non-infected in his company. He allowed himself to focus only on the music, trying not to be consumed by it. 

The Hive noticed Paul was opening himself up to them anymore and cranked the music. The draw grew stronger, invisible tentacles reaching out for him to pull him right back into the mindset he had dragged himself out of. He was back on their radar, any and all information he had gathered over the past days was transmitted and shared among every infected soul on this planet. 

They knew what he’d been up to these past hours of isolation from the Hive. But he would learn where they were in return. That would be enough. He was getting confusing and rather mixed messages. He saw flashes of the city, of the tree line, from between the trees. Everyone marched to the beat, everyone pushing the oh-sound out of their mouths. Inching closer towards them, in their general direction. But from where? 

The music pushed deeper into his mind. Everyone in sync, everyone under a spell. No more hardships, no more intrusive thoughts. Wouldn’t that be nice? He’d lived it before. It wouldn’t be too hard to live it again.

The image became clearer. The front runners came across the little encampment where they had spent the night. In perfect harmony, they knew where Paul had gone and Paul knew where they were. They couldn’t be too far off, at most about seven miles away. Only seven more miles and they would be reunited again.

“Paul?” Paul opened his eyes. They had stopped walking. Martin stood closest to him, at a safe distance of several yards, with Leighton, Callie, and Shay behind him. He aimed the rifle at Paul, who just realized he was humming along. 

They were scared. Rightfully so.

So was Paul.

He lifted an arm and pointed down the part of the highway where they had come from, trying not to break eye contact with the group. His arm, hand, and fingers trembled enormously, but he did not stop. 

He finished the line. And he said “There.” and pressed his lips together.

Martin turned his gaze to the area Paul had pointed at. Silence and focus were all they needed to hear only vaguely what Paul could feel in his eardrums. 

Paul lowered his arm and stared. Even with his eyes wide open and a somewhat clear mind, impressions from the larger part came through. The masses were running. There had to be a hundred of them if there weren’t more. They found fresh blood, they had a goal in mind, and they would not be deterred by anything.

“We should go,” Leighton said. “C’mon.”

The group moved on quickly, picking up the pace. With a threat on their heels, they defected from the highway and made their way through the trees. With a bit of luck, the Hive wouldn’t be able to follow them. Paul tried to follow the group to the best of his abilities without sending too much information to the Hive. 

He couldn’t stop that process, though. Anything he saw, smelled, heard, touched - everything was sent back to the Hive. They would recognize where he had been and could easily pick up the trail. The drums pounded in his ears, beckoning him to return and to remind him he was never alone. They semi-ran for a good while as the Hive approached with a hundred or more drones. Paul did not feel the exhaustion that was coming upon the members of this group, who struggled to keep the pace. While he wasn’t keeping track of time, he did keep track of the distance between him and the Hive. It was still the same, indicating they ran at the same speed. The Hive was in no hurry to chase them, because it knew where they were going. They had their very own GPS, after all.

The group had stopped and Paul almost bumped into Martin - his life flashed before his eyes. That would have been a big mistake.

Callie pulled three blindfolds out of the bag. She passed one to Shay and another to Martin.

“Here.” Callie handed the third to Paul. He stared at the blindfold, confused. He noticed neither Shay nor Martin would put on their blindfolds before Paul had done the same. 

“Only Leighton knows where we’re going,” Shay helpfully chimed in. It made sense. The fewer people really knew where this hide-out was, the bigger the chance was that this camp could actually stay hidden. It only took one person to be infected, one victim to know where a survivor camp was, and it would be run over within no-time. 

“Put it on, give hands, and I guide them back,” Leighton responded, “The fewer people who know where we are, the better.”

Paul nodded. Yet, he handed this blindfold back to Callie, who would need it more than him. It would definitely not be the best method for him.

“Knock me out,” he said.

That Paul spoke was still kind of a shock. Leighton turned his head to the man and frowned. “What?”

Paul raised his hand and tapped with two fingers against his head. “They’ll know. Knock me out.”

Maybe in their panic, they hadn’t realized before that Paul did not have an off-switch and had been transmitting everything to the Hive from the moment they’d found him. Even blindfolded and disoriented, the Hive might still be able to piece together a general direction to look in.

“Is that even possible?” Callie asked.

“How else did we transport a couple of them to camp?” Leighton said. It was very much possible.

“Can’t we just leave it behind?” Martin asked, tapping his finger against his rifle impatiently and a hateful eye on Paul. With everything that was going on, Martin’s words brought about anxiety. This was the last thing that he needed right now. This day he spent with these survivors, it was the best one he’s had in a long while. He couldn’t give it up. Not yet.

“I’m not going without him!” Shay said loudly.

“Shay, this not the time to be difficult,” Callie said. She wouldn’t want them to be caught by the infected because of the stubbornness of a child. 

“Please don’t leave me,” Paul blurted out. Even as he did not want to say much more, with the Hive approaching and slowly taking back a little control of Paul’s mind, this needed to be said. If they left him, he might as well give up because he had nothing left to lose. 

“Alright, then,” Martin said. He lifted his rifle and pointed at Paul - he just needed to pull the trigger. For the first time since his reawakening, Paul was afraid of the weapon. He glanced at it nervously and took a step back, right as Leighton took one step closer to Martin, not standing in the rifle’s path.

“Wait a second,” Leighton said calmly.

“He wants to be knocked out,” Martin said without changing his stance. “Let me do that permanently.” 

“He could be valuable,” Leighton said, in a tone that would hopefully persuade Martin. “He might provide us with a cure!” Paul turned his head to Leighton. So that was why Leighton was protecting him. 

“Maybe so, but at this moment he’s a liability.”

“Martin—” Leighton had lifted an arm and placed his hand on Martin’s shoulder. Martin pulled the shoulder back to get Leighton’s hand off of it and pointed his gun at him.

“Don’t touch me!”

Leighton raised his hands defensively, eyes only on Martin.

“Easy,” he said calmly in a low tone. Despite the stress, Leighton seemed weirdly relaxed. It might be because Martin would never be stupid enough to kill the only person who knew the way back home.

“Dad!” Callie said in an embarrassed tone. She glared at her father; this was not the right time for this drama.

The Hive approached rapidly. The seven miles between them had grown smaller and was now five miles. The distance may be closed even more tightly if they kept up this quarreling.

“They’re coming closer,” Paul reminded the group. 

“Then let’s get going,” Martin turned the rifle to Paul again, fully intending to shoot Paul down. A shiver went down Paul’s spine.

“Don’t!” Shay jumped forward and hung on to Martin’s arm. With her weight, she pulled down the arms - she brought Martin out of his focus and made it impossible to properly aim so long as she held on.

“Get off of me!” Martin said. He tried to shake her off and with the other arm’s hand, he tried to pry the child’s arms off of his own. 

“For God’s sake, Martin!” Leighton said, getting fed up with his attitude and the threat he posed to Paul. He reached into the bag and fished out the metal container right as Martin and Callie managed to take Shay away from him. Leighton hit Paul in the head with the metal container. Paul fell and blacked out.


	4. The tent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! Hope you enjoy.

Paul woke up highly confused and scared. His surroundings were dark and meaningless. He couldn't move freely, was tied down by his ankles and wrists. He hyperventilated and looked around too quickly to take in any details. Something was missing.

The survivors.

The war song.

Paul closed his eyes and took deep breaths. He listened. There was some chatter, some level of normal sounds, but they were in the background and not in his head. There was nothing in his head, except for his own thoughts. If the Hive was present - and it was - it had hidden itself in the crevices of the darkness that was Paul's mind.

Paul was safe for now.

He opened his eyes again. With a clearer mind, he noticed he was inside a tent of some sort, with the background chatter coming from the outside. The only source of light and warmth was one small contained fire in the center of the tent, far away from anything that could burn everything down. He lay on a stretch bed on the side, his ankles and wrists tied to it for good measure. Possibly to keep the population of this survivor camp placated. Paul wouldn’t have it any other way; they were happy with it and Paul didn’t mind.

It must be night; even through the sails of the tent, it was darker than it would be in broad daylight.  
And he was alone. 

He had time to think now, of anything and everything, but he didn’t do that. Still afraid of his own mind, he just looked at one fixated point, one seam in the sail, and pictured Emma was standing there.

She folded her arms and watched Paul with a tilted head. Her eyes fall on his restraints. She smiles; you did it, Paul. You got away. And she tells him of her own exploits and survivor stories.

It eased the pain. Hopefully, she was okay. Hopefully, she was still fighting back.

#

At long last, after what could have been minutes or hours, someone entered his tent. It was Leighton. He pulled up the sail and let it fall back into place once he was inside. Paul stared at Leighton looking at him with mild surprise.

“You’re awake,” Leighton said. He folded his arms. “Do you remember anything after I knocked you out?”

Paul shook his head. “No.”

Leighton did not hide his relief and sighed, a smile on his face.

“That’s good.” His eyes fell on the restraints. Leighton looked at Paul again. “Do you mind if I untie you?”

Paul shrugged as best as he could while being bound to the bed. “Go ahead.”

Leighton noded. “Okay.”

He approached Paul and knelt at the feet, his hands reaching out to the rope that bound Paul’s feet to the stretcher bed. Leighton untied them one by one.

“You’re in our camp,” Leighton said. “You’re safe from the Hive, for now. You shouldn’t be afraid to leave the tent, I checked and there is absolutely nothing that specifies where exactly we are.” Leighton had now untied the legs and moved on to the wrists. “You can safely walk around without accidentally giving our location away. Is that okay?” 

Paul nodded. “Yeah.” Leighton finished untying Paul and gave him back his freedom. Paul sat up on the bed and rubbed his wrists. They did not hurt or even feel numb - it was just an automatism, something that felt good considering the circumstances.

“Anyway,” Leighton continued after he’d backed away from Paul to give him some personal space, “you can stay inside the tent or go out, I don’t care, but I do advise you to show your face and behave in a normal way. The people here know you’re infected and it might put them at ease if they saw you out and about.” 

Paul did not know what to say about this - mostly because he hadn’t thought about this. He did not know whether he’d wanted everyone to know he was infected; now, he had no choice anymore at all. They would treat him differently by default and be weird around him. He was at a disadvantage - the kindness of strangers had saved him. He feared the hate of strangers might push him right back in.

But he couldn’t voice all those thoughts, so he just nodded in agreement.

Leighton folded his arms. “You’re not talking much, right?” 

“Pretty much,” Paul responded. 

“Still afraid to speak too much?” 

Paul nodded again. Limiting verbal responses to three syllables at most was for today and the next days the best strategy. If that was comfortable enough, he could start speaking more words and more often. Eventually, he hoped to have normal conversations again. It all depended on how present the Hive was, and its silence scared him enough to limit his verbal responses. Having conversations like a normal person was attainable, but still a far future.

“I hope you’ll someday feel better about speaking without singing,” Leighton said. Paul picked up on some compassion, but he dismissed it. After all, Paul was ‘valuable’ as an infected. Leighton likely did not care for him as a person, but an asset. Only Shay saw the person Paul once was - and only Shay cared. Or was that just his imagination?

“I’ll come and check up on you every once in a while, if that’s okay with you,” Leighton added. Paul nodded again and Leighton walked back to the tent entrance. Before he pulled away the sail and left, he turned to Paul one last time.

“Oh, one more thing. We’ve got a couple of resident scientists in here. They’re trying to find a cure - I don’t know whether you picked up on that - but they’d like to have a conversation with you when you feel like it. Don’t feel obligated to see them until you’re ready. When you are, be sure to tell me and I’ll take you to them. Alright?”

There it was. He was just an asset in Leighton’s eyes. 

“Alright,” Paul said weakly.

Leighton nodded. “Okay. Goodnight, Paul.”

Paul didn’t respond. Leighton left the tent and Paul was all alone again. He lay down on the bed and stared at the cloth ceiling, his mind wandering everywhere and nowhere, revisiting the night it started, the night he could destroy the meteor.

If only he could remember what happened after a part of the meteor exploded.


	5. Three scientists

The next morning, Leighton went to check up on Paul. Through specific questions, Leighton figured out that Paul was just “fine”. That was what Paul said, at least. He was probably dealing with a lot and just fine was the standard answer. Even after all that time, at least that was something that people could never unlearn - saying they were fine when in reality, they were not. 

Either way, Leighton left Paul in peace and then moved on to the second stop of today: the scientists in their lab.

It was not a secret that Leighton did not trust the three scientists. They were secluded and hardly ever participated in group activities. They stayed in their area and “did research”. If they did anything else that didn’t relate to the cure, they weren’t speaking of it. They had their food brought to them and slept in stretcher beds in their lab. From the outside, you wouldn’t know what was going on in there. 

Leighton was one of the few people actually allowed in there. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t because they trusted him. Which made him one of the few people who knew these scientists had three fully-infected people in their care. 

In the tent, he was met with the usual set-up. Their lab to the right, with a piece of tape on the wooden pallets to indicate the ‘disinfected zone’. In front of him the three cages with the infected and to his left, the living area. Luckily, the scientists were strict in their practices and never allowed even one unauthorized cup in their disinfected zone. 

Hoover, Jameson, Clarke. The woman and men who were trying to save the world. So far they’ve had no luck, but they kept trying. 

Oliver Jameson was the senior of the group. Which was saying a lot, considering he couldn’t be older than thirty-five. At least, he didn’t look a day older than thirty-five. This quiet man specialized in genetics and had been working at some renowned institute that did not matter since people got infected. He was one of the pioneers of the camp, one of its first residents, and the one who came up with the plan to find a cure, how impossible it seemed at the time.

Rachel Hoover, the woman, was a bit different. She was more outspoken and in some ways, the leader of the group. Her studies and work in cell biology had advanced the general understanding of how certain cells interacted, and a great help for Jameson, who had been close to quitting. Her ideas were radical and the treatment of infected test subjects horrifying, but as long as she could justify her actions with the search for the cure, she would hide behind this perfect cover.

Lastly, there was Joseph Franklin Clarke. He was the most inexperienced of the bunch; a mere chemistry college student who managed to have survived because of pure luck. Much like Paul, he’d been picked up while he was deliriously walking about the highway. Clarke recovered and once people figured out his major, Hoover and Jameson took him in. They have been a bad influence on him ever since. Sometimes, Leighton wished the boy had kept his mouth shut - Hoover and Jameson could have continued their work without Clarke. 

Leighton glanced at the cages in the back. The three infected men, one of which was Shay’s uncle, were quiet now. That could always change. It had happened before that he walked in and they were singing upbeat songs, slow ballads, any annoying earworm they could come up with. All filled with lyrics meant to elicit a reaction from the scientists. 

And whenever Leighton came in, there was only one song on their lips. He sincerely hoped they wouldn’t sing it today.

Clarke looked up from the clipboard on which he was writing some of the reactions the infected had on something they’d done before Leighton had walked into the tents. Clarke looked right at the entrance and noticed Leighton.

“You’re back,” Clarke called out as a way of greeting him. Leighton didn’t say anything back. He didn’t want them to get the impression that he tolerated them.

Clarke had greeted him, now Jameson and Hoover also knew their contact person with the rest of the camp had arrived. They stopped whatever they were doing for the moment and approached him to discuss. Clarke remained in the back with the infected.

“So, how did it go with that semi-infected guy?” Jameson asked. Leighton wanted to counter by saying he wasn’t sure ‘semi-infected’ even existed, but he decided against it. Past experience has learned him to never question whatever words were coming out of the scientists’ mouth.

“Paul’s awake. He’s doing fine, all things considered.”

Jameson nodded, impressed. “That’s great.”

“You gave it a name?” Hoover asked him, a strict look in her eyes. Leighton returned the cold gaze.

“_He_ gave me his name. He was conscious enough to give it to me. But-” he quickly added, before Hoover could make wrong assumptions, “he’s not ready for a full-out inspection. Or an interview.”

Hoover and Jameson - but mostly Hoover - were not happy with this news. Hoover’s stare grew even colder.

“You were supposed to bring him here for-”

“Paul isn’t going to come here if he doesn’t want to do it,” Leighton interrupted Hoover. Who’d have thought he’d ever defend the rights of an infected person towards the scientists that prodded them with needles.

“But we need the cure,” Jameson said. Leighton was glad Jameson had come over as well. While he was just as bad as Hoover, he was less demanding and strict. He spoke more lightly and sometimes even smiled. He did not act like a world-class jerk and a dictator - a miracle! And from time to time, such as now, Jameson would speak carefully. 

“No doubt about that,” Leighton said. “I want that cure just as badly as you do. Paul… he’s not like those men in the cages. He shouldn’t be treated like you treat them. He’s independent and he could live on his own. But right now, his mental state is still to fragile. He’s so terrified of singing that he’s barely speaking. I’m afraid it will take a long recovery before he can even leave his tent without feeling some sort of guilt. He’s not coming here at your request and I don’t want to see any of you visiting him without my permission.”

Hoover did not appreciate that tone. She took a step closer to him. While she was one foot smaller than Leighton, she was not any less intimidating as a person.

“You don’t run this camp,” Hoover said defiantly.

“Correct,” Leighton said. “I don’t. But we found him on one of my expeditions, which makes me responsible for him. I’ve seen him, spent time with him. Yes, twenty-four hours aren’t enough to get to know a person, but I see the same fear in his eyes that I see in everyone’s eyes when faced with an infected person.” Leighton paused. “Being infected damaged him mentally. I may not particularly like him, but I won’t risk him going insane and killing us all just so you can get your data sooner. I will personally make sure he’ll come here, but you must give him time first.”

“But the cure…” Hoover insisted, but Leighton shook his head. 

“As you yourself once said, greatness can’t be rushed. Don’t rush it.”

Tensions rose as the glaring between Leighton and Hoover got more intense. Right now, only their dignity was keeping them from ripping each other apart to get the last word. 

“Alright,” Jameson said before Hoover could bring in another word. He nodded. “Okay. We’ll stay away from him.”

Hoover hesitantly followed suit. She nodded once and glared at Leighton, who was glad Jameson intervened.

“Thank you,” he said. Jameson and Hoover returned to their usual work. This was around the same time Clarke had finished gathering the data he was asked to gather. Now, the clipboard rested in his arm and he walked straight to Leighton.

“You’re such a pain in the ass, Leighton,” Clarke said, folding his arms. Leighton shook his head until he realized that Clarke had said his name. Loud enough for the infected in the back to hear it. Shay’s uncle turned his head and stared right at Leighton. The three men sang in unison: 

_“Working Boys, we’re up to our ass in shit! What is this business?”_

They didn’t stop there. They wouldn’t - they would sing until the song was finished, as they usually did, whether Leighton was then still around or not.

Leighton folded his arms and shook his head, a disappointed look on his face. Clarke was grinning widely.

“Why do you still do this?” Leighton wanted to know.

Clarke shrugged. “Why not enjoy it? You’re the Leighton from the song.”

“I am certain I’m not that Leighton.” He couldn’t be. There were many more Leightons out there, some with a differently-spelled variation of the name. One of them must have been infected, as well as most of the names listed in the song. While Leighton had known a Greg, Steve, Stu, Mark, and Chad, he couldn't be that Leighton. It wouldn’t be out of place for the Hive to put random people together to perform this shitty song as if they truly were friends. “Did you do that to annoy me or because you ‘needed more data’?”

Just saying the name didn’t do the trick. The infected needed to see Leighton in person, too, to break into this specific song. It became quite annoying to hear it every time he came to visit. 

“To annoy you,” Clarke said.

Okay, that was it. Leighton glanced at the infected one last time before looking at Clarke again.

“Well, enjoy your working boys.”Leighton turned around and left the scientists area - he’d said what he wanted to say and had gotten the Working Boys treatment, so now it was time to go.

He hoped those infected guys would be cured. Or killed. Whatever got them to stop with the Working Boys. 


	6. Father and daughter

The evening was falling and Callie headed over to the tent her father shared with a couple more men. She hadn’t seen him the entire day and neither had Leighton or anyone else in the camp. The only people who had seen him were also living in that tent and they weren’t very helpful. Apparently, Martin hadn’t left the tent the entire day. 

So naturally, she now went to his tent to check on him. It was almost lunchtime, too, and he had already missed both lunch and breakfast - if Callie were to believe her dad’s roommates. 

“Dad?” She pushed away the sail and looked inside. One light was burning, and it was the candle beside her father’s stretcher bed. He was deep in thought and was cleaning his gun, sitting with his back to her. 

“Dad?”

Martin jumped up and pointed his gun at Callie in a reflex. Callie threw up her hands and for a moment, she feared he would pull the trigger.

But he didn’t. He exhaled a couple of times as he lowered the gun.

“Callie,” he said, one hand on his heart. “Don’t sneak up on me!” 

“Sorry,” Callie responded, even though she hadn’t been in the wrong. Her father had always been jumpy and still had perfect hearing. He should not have reacted the way he did, but he wasn’t going to apologize for it and she wouldn’t be able to talk to him unless she apologized. 

“Did you not come out of the tent at all today?” she asked Martin. He merely shrugged, placed the gun by his bedside and sat down again.

“I had better things to do.” Martin patted the rifle. Callie glanced at it. This was worrisome behavior. Yes, her father always did have an unhealthy obsession with rifles and guns, but he never patted them before.

“What about your medication?” she then asked. “Have you taken—”

“Yeah!” He answered with a raised voice and an indignant tone. “You don’t have to check up on me. I’m taking my meds, alright?” Martin shook his head disappointedly while Callie sighed. He wouldn‘t lie about his meds, but his behavior… again, this was concerning.

“What’s going on with you?” Callie asked him. He hadn’t changed much, but this insistence on staying in the tent, on brandishing his gun, on everything else that surrounded it… He was hiding something. Or he just wasn’t telling her.

“As if you don’t know that, Callie,” Martin said. He stood up again, possibly so he wouldn’t have to look up to her face. They were at the same eye-height now. He pointed to his right, in the direction of where the more private tents stood if you were to follow his finger outside of the tent. “That damn thing is out there, roaming around in the camp!”

Callie frowned. “You’re staying inside because of Paul?”

Martin dramatically rolled his eyes and threw his arms in the air. “Now you’re saying its name, too!” 

“Because he’s a person,” Callie argued. “Like you and me.”

But Martin shook his head. “No. He is singing.” And this infection was enough for Martin to deem Paul less than a person, not even deserving of having his name being used at any time.

“He hasn’t been singing,” Callie said.

“How do you know?” Martin asked her. “Have you _seen _him lately?”

“No, but—”

Martin spread his arms. “I rest my case! Who knows what he’s doing in his tent. I bet he’s singing all the time - and dancing, too.”

Callie slowly shook her head as she watched her father’s paranoid eyes. she had folded her arms - he couldn’t seriously mean this, right? He had seen how hard Paul had tried not to sing and dance when they were returning to the camp five days ago. But he did seem to mean it. 

“That’s ridiculous,” she said.

“Why?” Martin retorted. “You don’t know what it’s been doing. You haven’t been visiting him!”

“Shay has.” 

Martin was silent for a second, maybe two, before he erupted in laughter. Another reaction from her father that elicited her annoyance. But she tried to keep her cool. Coming off as irritated towards her father had never helped anyone, especially not her. She wasn’t going to interrupt him or get him to stop either. He finally laughed again, even if it was about something wildly inappropriate.

“So you’re gonna believe a kid?” Martin said once he’d almost completely recovered from this laughing fit.

“If Paul had any bad intentions whatsoever, something would’ve happened already,” Callie said. “He’s been here for what, four days? Every day Shay has visited him and every time I see her, she’s not singing or dancing or unusually quiet and withdrawn. If Paul really is as out of control as you think he is, don’t you think he wouldn’t object to infecting a child? He’s had that chance, multiple times, and he still didn’t do it.”

But there was that doubt, tugging in the back of her mind. What if it was indeed an act? What if her father was right? She tried to ignore it - Paul was too sane to qualify - but in a musical, they didn’t sing all the time (with some exceptions) - there was also some talking in between.

Martin pointed at her and nodded.

“That’s the keyword. _Still_! He’s waiting for the right moment.” He walked over to his bed and sat down again. “You’ll see, in a day or two— that scoundrel will sing loudly, set his friends free and everyone here will be doomed.” Martin’s hand reached for the rifle and he grabbed it as well as the piece of cloth he’d used beforehand to clean it. This did not go unnoticed - Callie thought Martin was even doing it more visibly than he had when she had walked into the tent.

Callie’s face paled as the realization dawned on her. She took a couple more steps towards him. “Please promise me you won’t do what I think you’re gonna do.”

Martin slowly turned is head to his daughter. “And what am I gonna do?”

“Shoot Paul,” Callie responded. “That’s it, right? You’re gonna shoot him.”

Martin did not immediately respond verbally, but every action pointed in that direction. Especially the serious look on his face he shot at Callie when he was about to answer.

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago!” he said. “Trust me, Callie, that thing’s only gonna cause us trouble in the long run.”

“He’s not going to cause trouble,” Callie said. Though she did not know this person, it was safe to assume that Paul was a person that would rather not draw attention to himself and his actions, that he would rather run away from danger than run straight towards it. The only one who was going to cause trouble was Martin.

“You don’t know that,” he said - a typical Martin response to make his conversation partner doubt themselves because he believed he knew the truth. 

"He’s here to better himself. He might even help create a cure for this.”

“Maybe so,” Martin said. “but I’d sleep better at night after he’s taken his final breath.”

Callie groaned. _Lord, give me strength. _“Come on, dad. You can’t just kill him.”

“Watch me.”

Martin stood up again, this time holding the rifle in his hand still. He marched towards the entrance - or at least, he attempted to. Callie always moved with him, blocking his way and making it impossible for him to simply pass her.

Why was he so determined to kill this one person?

Then something clicked in her mind again; his father was still a simple person with not many reasons to do many things. She didn’t have to think too long to figure out the why; she needed just look into the not-so-distant past to find the reason. 

“Is this about mom?” Callie asked quietly. Martin stopped in his tracks. He stopped trying to get past Callie, did not even dare to make eye contact with her anymore. The tight grip on the rifle loosened, though he didn’t drop it. 

_It is._ Callie didn’t know what to say about this, since the subject was still a little touchy-feely, especially for her father. It was never discussed, never cried about, though her loss weighed heavily on them. She glanced at the rifle.

“That thing is part of the problem,” Martin said in a lower voice than he previously spoke in. He looked determined, while the melancholy and anger were also visible in his eyes. He was going to do it.

“Paul didn’t infect mom,” Callie said. The scene flashed before her eyes; her mother raised her voice, sang to a tune neither Callie nor Martin could hear. Callie didn’t even have the time to process what was going on when Martin fired the gun and her mom dropped to the floor. A clean shot, dead. Tears sprung in her eyes, but she didn’t want to cry. Not here, not now. 

“He didn’t infect her,” she continued. “Wasn’t even there.”

“He is infected,” Martin said, leaning closer towards his daughter and pronouncing each word with emphasis. “He is a part of a much bigger problem that needs to be taken care of. Screw the cure. He doesn’t belong here.” Martin then stepped away again, walking back to his bed to give Callie some space. He found his grip on the rifle again.

“Since when are you defending them anyway?” He then asked her.

Callie knew what he was up to. She didn’t agree and now was trying to guilt her into sharing his view or at least denouncing the views that she held. That might’ve worked when she was younger, but not anymore.

“First of all, Paul didn’t do anything. It’s not like he could’ve prevented all of this from happening.”

Her father huffed. In his humble opinion, everyone could’ve prevented this from happening by, you know, not getting infected, which was quite hard given that nobody suspected this was even going on and once they did know, it was too late.

“Second, I’m not defending the infection or the Hive.” It was silly Callie even still had to mention this, but if she didn’t, her father would go on ranting and she didn’t want that to happen. “I am defending the person behind the infection. The victim, who was at the wrong place at the wrong time, like many of them were. The survivor, who somehow is fighting back.” She briefly paused to gauge how much her father would discard as crazy talk. He did not respond to her words, so it was safe to assume Callie could continue talking. “He deserves to be here just as much as we do. The only difference is that he’s still fighting every moment of every single day while we can be at peace.”

Martin shook his head disappointingly. “At peace…”

“What if it were mom?” Callie then asked him. “What if she survived the bullet? What if she had been the one we found instead of Paul, trying her best not to sing or dance or kill us? Wouldn’t you give her a chance to prove herself? Wouldn’t you believe she could fight it off? Wouldn’t you trust her if she said she tried?”

Silence fell. This wasn’t a hard question, but imagining what might’ve been was too painful.

“Of course I would,” Martin said quietly.

“Then maybe you should try to extend that same trust to Paul,” Callie said. She was still struggling with it, but she was getting better. With every passing day, she felt safer knowing Paul was doing everything in his power to stop the infection from taking over again, to not sing and dance. It was a work in progress and she was still learning, but things were getting better. At long last, she might not even see Paul as infected, but as normal, depending on how much he’s grown into independence again.

Her father, on the other hand, would be a completely different story. She’d have to be around him all the time, just so he may not kill Paul.

This was going to be tough.


	7. House competition

Since the little excursion to Portland, Shay had never failed to visit Paul at least once a day. 

The other people in the camp were afraid of him. And so would Shay be if she hadn’t seen Paul trying his hardest not to sing. Paul stayed in his tent - there wasn’t any reason for him to get out in the sun - and nobody really came over to visit, and it had to be lonely in there. Because nobody else did it, Shay came in once a day, maybe twice, to keep him company and to talk with him.

Paul did not mind. He didn’t tell her to leave him alone or went too long saying nothing. Shay often did most of the talking, while Paul tried to convey his opinions and thoughts with as much body language as he could and as little words as possible. Usual responses were ‘Really?’, ‘That is crazy’, ‘Too bad’, and his favorite ‘Okay’. Her friends in the camp had called her crazy for keeping Paul company. Josh was especially paranoid, believing Paul was a spy and would infect them all. This remark only made Shay more motivated to go to Paul to prove he wasn’t dangerous and that she still hadn’t been infected. Paul wouldn’t infect her.

Day six came around since Paul’s arrival, and Shay walked into the tent after breakfast.

“Morning, Paul!”

“Good morning,” Paul said. He’d made considerable progress - he wasn’t afraid anymore of opening his mouth and producing a note. He felt comfortable enough talking without worrying about singing. He didn’t speak much yet, but it was better than the uncertain look in his eyes whenever he spoke. Progress would be made, slowly but surely.

Paul was glad to have found someone who wanted to keep him company as much as Shay was. He was grateful that she was as patient as she was and not egging him on to say more or to speak for a longer time.

Their conversation wasn’t very challenging topic-wise. Shay was just keeping him up-to-date with the goings-on inside the camp. And when they weren’t talking about the camp, they talked about the stupidest things Shay could come up with: the color scheme of certain things, the strange dream she’s had, anything silly she could discuss to keep Paul from thinking of the Hive.

Which wasn’t easy - the entity was always in the corner of his mind, Paul was certain it was ready to jump him and that it was waiting for the right moment. Yes, it was quiet, but it wasn’t gone. It couldn’t be.

That morning, about halfway through their conversation when someone poked their head into the tent. Paul saw it first, and he frowned. The head belonged to a boy who had lost all color in his face while he stared at Paul with a mortified gaze. Shay, who noticed the look on Paul’s face, immediately turned her head around to see. When the boy saw this, he immediately pulled his head back. There was no doubt about it - he ran.

“Josh!” Shay yelled at him. Shay quickly turned to Paul once more - “Wait a second.” - and then ran after him.

“What are you— okay then,” Paul said. He didn’t stand up from the bed, not even to go to the exit and look through it. Six days, with the Hive still lurking, Paul didn’t trust himself not to accidentally witness or hear something he wasn’t supposed to see or hear that would lead the Hive here.

So he sat on the bed and patiently waited for Shay to return to him and to explain what the hell had just happened.

It did not take too long before Shay returned - along with someone who really didn’t want to be there. Paul didn’t see it, but they were loud.

“I don’t want to!” a young voice said. A boy’s voice. Paul frowned. Was Shay going to drag him into the tent?

“He doesn’t bite,” Shay responded, and as Paul envisioned it, she had grasped him by his wrist and dragged him into the tent. He was struggling, but once he was inside the tent, standing next to Shay and eye to eye with Paul, he froze on the spot. 

“Hi.” The kid only spoke out of fear, not because he was being polite and genuinely wanted to greet the infected man on the bed.

“Hi,” Paul responded, and he stared at Shay.

“They dared him to poke his head in the tent.” Shay explained, and Paul shrugged in response. “Paul, this is Josh. He’s an idiot sometimes.”

“Hey!” Josh raised his voice, and turned to glare at Shay in a petty way. That comment seemed to snap him out of the initial horror he experienced, but Paul doubted it immediately vaporized all of his fear.

“Josh, this is Paul. He’s nice.”

“Is he?” Josh asked. He quickly glanced at Paul, not willing to look at him for longer than a millisecond. Maybe he didn’t want to freeze like he had a second ago.

“Yeah,” Shay said in Paul’s defense. “He doesn’t say much, but he’s a good person.”

“But…” Josh lowered his voice and leaned in closer, “he’s infected.”

Shay nodded confidently. “Yes, but he doesn’t sing and dance.”

“I don’t like musicals,” Paul added. One of the few universal truths that kept him going each day, the one that forced him to regain his freedom somehow.

“See?” Shay exclaimed as if this was the proof that would exonerate Paul from all wrongdoing. “He doesn’t even like it!”

Josh frowned and shrugged defensively. “What does singing and dancing have to do with musicals, anyway?”

Paul blinked. _What?_

Shay turned her head to Paul and shook it a little dramatically. “Do you see what I have to deal with daily?”

Josh stuck his tongue out at Shay. “You’re no fun.” Once again, he looked quickly at Paul, only for a few seconds, while he spoke at an increasing speed. “Nice meeting you, bye.”

Josh turned around and wanted to run out of the tent and return to the people who had dared him to look inside, to tell them what he had just gone through, but Shay grabbed his arm before he could leave them.

“Not so fast,” Shay said, a playful smile on her face. Paul didn’t trust that smile. The few times he’d seen it, Shay had something a little mischievous in mind. “There are some things that Paul likes. Right, Paul?”

“I … I guess.” Paul shrugged. Where was she going with this? Maybe this was just pay-back for Josh poking in his head and being caught. By the looks on Josh’s face, it seemed like this was the likeliest and probably the only option. He wanted a glimpse of Paul. Now he could have a conversation.

Shay didn’t ask the question. Instead, she looked at Josh. Her gaze made him uncomfortable, and she would not stop until Josh started the conversation. 

“What do you like?” Josh asked with the highest amount of disinterest. 

“Movies,” Paul said, trying to remember what he used to like before the infection.“_Family_, the tv show.”

“Really?” Josh looked at Paul with a disappointed and semi-disgusted look. “That stupid ‘soap series’?”

“It’s really good,” Paul argued. He would not try to convince this child to try to watch it. The show wasn’t exactly geared towards children his age (though they could also enjoy it), they didn’t have the commitment to watch a new twenty-minute episode every weekday for the entire year. Also, they probably didn’t have a television around here, so even if Josh had wanted to watch it - Paul highly doubted it - he wouldn’t be able to.

“Well… I like those things,” Paul continued and another interest of his popped to his mind. “And Harry Potter.”

Something strange happened - something Paul didn’t expect. Josh’s eyes widened, almost in excitement.

“You like Harry Potter?” His voice was raised, and he watched Paul expectantly now. That he was infected did not seem to matter anymore now that Paul had said the two magic words that would make Josh like him. And that was a little weird.

“Yes, I do,” Paul said, and he nodded. Josh almost jumped into the air. 

“I do, too!” he exclaimed excitedly. “I’ve read all the books, watched all the movies, did everything!”

“So did I,” Paul said, a small smile appearing on his face while his mind took him back to the memories of reading the books and then watching the movies. He found it was a nice conclusion to the series that the children were sent off to Hogwarts - the names of the children were a little questionable - but it was nice. While visiting Newt Scamander would be nice, Paul never saw that series. Only the seven books and, to a lesser extent, the eight movies were Harry Potter. He needed nothing added to that universe.

“That’s awesome!” Josh said, a grin plastered on his face. “Many people I know aren’t very wild about it, my classmates hadn’t discovered it, yet, either. I don’t get to talk about it a lot.” He glanced at Shay, who may not have read the series - or who had and was just a casual fan. 

“Neither do I.” But only because Paul never shared his interests with anyone. He was more than likely to share his disinterests before his interests. “What house are you in?”

“I’m a Ravenclaw! And you?” 

“Hufflepuff.”

And Josh laughed loudly. Shay eyed him with a shocked look in her eyes - he probably hadn’t laughed like that for a long time. While Paul was happy to make him laugh, he did not enjoy being the brunt of the joke that Josh had seen in his answer.

“Really?” He asked. “_Hufflepuff_?”

“Yes, I’m a Hufflepuff,” Paul said, using a slightly defensive tone. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s literally the loser house!” Josh said, still giggling to himself. The infected, a Hufflepuff! Paul shook his head.

“No, it’s not,” he said. He tried not to show his frustration. He was a kid, he shouldn’t be frustrated Josh was misinterpreting what Hufflepuff was all about.

“You guys don’t do much,” Josh then said. That was not true, but again, Paul didn’t want to argue with a misinformed kid. It also might not look good on him, either, with his reputation.

“Okay,” Paul said, and he repeated it a couple of times, to be calmer before continuing the conversation. “You’re a Ravenclaw, I’m a Hufflepuff. We can get along.”

Josh shrugged playfully. “Maybe.”

What, _maybe_? As of that moment, Paul only had Harry Potter in his head. It did not even cross his mind that Josh may not want to get along with him because of his infection status. 

“Look, you’re a Ravenclaw. You’re supposed to be smart and creative and stuff.”

“I am smart!” Josh exclaimed indignantly. Shay, who had walked to the side to give the boys some space, shook her head in disagreement.

Paul shrugged. “If you say so. Though you should see that each house has equal value.”

“No, they don’t,” Josh argued. He was convinced that Hufflepuffs were useless, were not as good as the others. And Paul wasn’t having any of that ignorance anymore.

“Not in the way it was written, with the heavy focus on Gryffindor and Slytherin and less so on our houses. Yes, Hufflepuffs aren’t ‘brave’, or ‘cunning’, or ‘smart’, but you know what we are? We’re loyal. We’re hardworking. Every group of friends needs a Hufflepuff to keep all the different personalities together. They prevent infighting.”

“Yeah, but—” Josh tried to get a word in. He got two. But Paul wasn’t finished; he wasn’t just going to let Josh stop him at that moment.

“I wasn’t finished,” Paul said. “A Hufflepuff never gives up on anyone ever. They’re patient and fair. They’re tolerant and dedicated. And yes, now and then, there’s someone out there who isn’t as tolerant or patient, but it’s on a spectrum. Not everyone is an archetype of their house. That’s why every house has so many attributes with just one being inflated for the sake of separation and recognition. Not all Gryffindors are brave. Not all Slytherins are evil. Not all Ravenclaws are smart. And not all Hufflepuffs are, as you put it, losers.”

Did that make sense? Paul believed it did. Maybe he went off on a tangent a bit too long and maybe it didn’t make as much sense as he thought it did, but it felt good getting this off of his chest. It shouldn’t feel so good, it was just a rant about Hufflepuff.

Josh stared at him with a blank face. If the words even had the slightest impact on the boy, it did not show. Had Paul even made an impact on the kid?

“Aren’t they also good finders?” Josh then asked. 

“That’s not canon,” Paul said with conviction. Whether Josh had listened and would carry his previous words would remain unknown. 

“But it’s out there.”

“Canon is what Rowling herself has written,” Paul said. “The books are canon, that detail is not.” And that was that.

“It’s practically canon, though.” Josh tried one last time, but Paul shook his head. Josh would not convince him about that one today.

“Not to me,” Paul said. 

And then something else filled the room; Shay was laughing loudly, as Josh had. But instead of laughing with something ‘stupid’ that Paul had said, Shay was just laughing, seemingly without reason. It stopped any conversations that would have ensued between Josh and Paul, and they looked at her quizzically. Neither of them knew what was going on.

“What are you laughing about?” Paul asked her. 

It took Shay a while before she stopped laughing. There were tears in her eyes and she still couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. 

“You’re talking,” she said.

“I’m…” Paul frowned, but then widened his eyes in realization. “I’m talking.” Without limits, without watching his words. No restraints, no constant worrying. Just a normal conversation, after a rant. Just as a normal person might speak.

Shay looked at Josh. “Thanks, Josh.”

Josh did not seem to get it. He was too unfamiliar with the way Shay and Paul used to communicate and he frowned at her.

“You’re welcome?”

Shay then turned to Paul, her grin still on her face. It was infectious; Paul smiled as well.

“And good job, Paul. I’m proud of you.”

Paul grinned at her. He was proud of himself, too.


	8. Trust

The morning was cold. It had frozen for the first time this year. Frost lay on the grass and the dried mud where people frequently passed by. Everything was covered with a thick white layer that would melt away when the sun hit it with warm rays.

Leighton looked out from his tent, a cold breeze breaking the warmth inside. The winter had arrived. Hopefully, this would not be too bad.

Who was he kidding? There were children here. They’d get sick and infect the others in the camp. Going back to Portland for more meds would harder since the trees would grow only barer and the Hive could spot them more easily.

They would have a long winter ahead of them.

The cold did not stop him or anyone else from leaving the warmth of their tents and going to work. Even in a refugee camp, there still was food to be cooked, clothes to be washed and sown, and equipment to be built. Some lights would be nice for the dark days to come, though they had to act more like flashlights. They did not want to risk the Hive finding them because they could see their lights from afar.

Leighton was not occupied with any of these jobs. His job required him to gather as many materials from outside the camp as he could. He would leave tomorrow again, spending at least five days outside the safe camp walls, but today he could rest. Today, he could lay back and relax a little.

But Leighton wasn’t interested in laying back. He wanted to walk around and help those people he was allowed to help, as well as monitor those who didn’t have to work today either. 

One of those people was Callie. Someone else watched over the dozen or so kids they had running about in the camp. She usually would stay close to them, but with her father Martin acting up, she may want to stay closer to him to make sure he wouldn’t do something reckless and stupid.

For the time being, Callie stood outside of the tent where she slept, with other single women. She had wrapped her thin jacket around her arms and the wind played with her hair, tossing it to the side. She was shivering lightly.

“Hey,” Leighton said, approaching her. She gave him a small smile.

“Hey.”

“How are you doing?”

“I'm fine,” she said. The smile disappeared from her face and she coughed loudly and persistently for a couple of seconds. She glanced at Leighton again. “I think I’m developing a cold.”

“Then you’re lucky I grabbed some cough syrup in Portland,” Leighton said. This brought a smile to her face again. She pulled up her jacket to cover more of her neck.

“I’ll go by the pharmacy later today,” she said. No mention of the kids, though. Maybe she would stay away from them after all. If one child got sick, all of them would soon be sick, too. 

“Don’t forget it,” Leighton said.

“How could I forget?” Callie said dryly. “My throat is killing me.”

Leighton looked at her and took off his own, warmer coat. He gave it to Callie, who gratefully accepted it and put it on. She zipped it to the top, covering her neck and burying her chin in it. Leighton watched with worried eyes. 

“Look after yourself, okay? It’s getting colder and we can’t afford to lose anyone else.”

Callie nodded in understanding. “Okay. I will.”

So…” Leighton then said, but he paused. How could he best start to talk about this topic? He eventually gave up and shrugged. “Martin.”

Callie nodded again, a resigned look on her face. “I know.”

Leighton looked at her with a frown. “He’s been taking his meds, right?”

“He says so,” Callie responded. “I’ve seen him take them a couple of times, but not always.” Which meant there were times he might bury them, might throw them away, never to be seen again.

“He’s picking them up,” Leighton said. When he came by the pharmacy, the supply of medicine Martin was supposed to take was slowly decreasing each week. At least he was thinking about them.

“I’m picking them up for him,” Callie said. Immediately Leighton changed his mind and his perception. It made more sense for Callie to pick up the medicine, since Martin desired not to depend on them and would throw them away every chance they got.

“Does he still want to—”

“Yes.” Callie did not even wait for Leighton to finish the question. Yes, Martin was still very much against Paul’s presence in the camp and might still try to kill him. He would rather see Paul out of the picture than something that could cure people. 

“Have you tried taking his gun away from him?” Leighton asked. 

But Callie shook her head. “He won’t let anyone near it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sleeps with it.”

She might have said more. But another coughing fit forced her to stop for at least ten seconds. After that, she needed a few seconds to recover from it.

Leighton placed a hand on her shoulder. “Take care of yourself. I’ll keep an eye on Martin today. Let’s go inside.”

“Okay,” Callie said. 

Leighton could have endlessly beaten himself up about why he didn’t immediately bring Callie inside once she started coughing before their conversation started. She stood just outside of her tent; it was literally a few feet away. It was but a small feat easily done, easily ignored.

If he had, then he might not have looked behind him once again as he led Callie inside. He might not have seen a young man in a lab coat slowly make his way towards Paul’s tent.

“I'll join you in a minute,” he then told Callie. She turned around to shoot him a quizzical look but noticed the lab coat as well. She nodded and went inside, while Leighton briskly walked towards the scientist trying to reach the only infected that wasn’t necessarily restricted.

“Clarke!”

At first, the young scientist did not hear it. He did eventually turn around, an excited, almost-fake smile plastered on his face. His eyes told the truth - he would rather not have been stopped.

“Leighton,” Clarke said in a tone that was a little too loud, “Good to see you.”

“Where are you going?” Leighton wasn’t in the mood for small talk, especially because of the presumed reason why Clarke had left the safe scientist area. The grin decreased a little.

“I will visit the infected guy.”

Leighton frowned at him. “You mean Paul?”

Clarke nodded. “Yes, that one.”

“Really?” Was he really stupid enough to make his intentions known? He might have succeeded if he had given a different reason, any other reason, as long as he didn’t toe it back to Paul. But Clarke nodded again, oblivious to the chance he'd been given.

“Yes.” His confidence was staggering. He fully believed that Leighton would agree to let him visit Paul for a little while. After all, what reason could Leighton possibly have to _not _let him pass?

“Then I can’t let you through,” Leighton stated, folding his arms. Clarke blinked a couple of times, his confidence faltered a little. The smile broke but remained on his face while he stared at Leighton with a confused look.

“Why not?” Clarke wondered. “He’s in there.” He pointed at the tent, just fifteen yards ahead of him. Leighton did not turn his head.

“He’s not ready yet,” Leighton said. “You’re not going to see him unless he wants to see you.”

“How would you know that?”

“He will tell me.”

Clarke blinked again and then burst out in laughter. As if Leighton had told him a great joke. Leighton did not join him and just waited for Clarke to stop laughing. He only began stopping when he realized Leighton did not intend it as a joke.

“Are you serious?” Clarke asked him. Leighton rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“It is not a joke, Joseph Clarke,” Leighton said in a serious tone. “He will tell me because the infection isn't in control, Paul is.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see that first,” Clarke said. He considered the conversation to be over and tried to step around Leighton to go to Paul. Leighton continued to block Clarke’s path. 

“Do you think I’d leave a fully infected person in a tent based on the promise he won’t come out?”

“No,” Clarke responded. Because no sane person would do such a thing.

Leighton nodded in response. “There you have your proof. Now go back to Hoover and Jameson. You have nothing to look for here.”

“Leighton—”

“That doesn’t work here,” Leighton said calmly. His name did not invoke the Working Boys chorus; the infected were not around to sing it and annoy him.“Leave. Paul will come to you when he's ready.”

Clarke frowned. “You're no fun.”

“Bye, Clarke,” Leighton said. Clarke sighed and turned around, returning to his colleagues who would no doubt sneer at his failure, even if it was not because of is incompetence, but because Leighton stood in the way. The result would please neither Hoover nor Jameson. Leighton might have defended him from the ruthless scientists were it not that Clarke had become one of them.

Leighton returned to the tent where Callie was still waiting for him. She had taken off his coat so she could return it faster. She had put on her jacket and sat on her small stretcher bed, more practical than beautiful or spacious, as was the norm in the camp.

“What was that about?” Callie asked him. She had seen the scientist and while she could guess where the man was going and what he would do, she could still be wrong. 

“Clarke,” Leighton said. “He wanted to talk to Paul. I didn't let him.” 

Callie nodded. “Good.”

At least they agreed that no one should see Paul unless he wanted to see them. The chance of this was minimal, considering nobody had really seen Paul since his arrival; he’d been cooped up in the tent this entire time.

Clarke’s attempt begged the question of how often the scientists would try this. How often were they going to do this before they got the message? Would they try to go for it on odd hours, waiting for the right moment, or would they send Clarke back exactly one hour from now? How desperate were they?

They ought to have some faith in Paul and trust in Leighton’s word. Unfortunately, their impatience often was an impediment to anything they were doing.

He glanced at Callie again. Had she ever expressed how she looked at Paul? Leighton himself had become Paul’s advocate for the camp, while Shay became his mouthpiece and Martin positioned himself as an opponent. As for Callie, Leighton didn’t know what she thought. Two weeks had passed since Paul came and Callie hadn’t spoken about it openly yet.

It somehow irked Leighton not to know this from Callie, and he couldn’t just leave it be. 

“May I ask you—”

“Yes, you may,” Callie said. She had expected the question. “Go ahead.”

“Do you trust Paul?” he asked. 

“Do you?” Callie immediately asked him. Before Leighton would get an answer from her, he would have to disclose his own stance on Paul. As if this wasn’t obvious already.

“I do,” he said. Not just because Paul won’t speak for himself. “Someone in this camp has to, and they won’t believe Shay.”

This answer was sufficient. Callie accepted it. Some silence followed, in which Callie either tried to find the courage to say what she thought or was composing her thoughts about.

“I want to trust him,” she eventually said. “I really do.”

“But?” Leighton encouraged her.

Callie sighed. “But he needs to trust himself first. How do you trust a man who can’t even trust himself?”

Leighton was perplexed for a moment, and then he briefly nodded. 

“That a good question.”

Leighton could find himself in Callie’s reasoning. The amount of self-trust and confidence Paul possessed (or the lack thereof) was more than enough reason not to trust him at all. For who knew Paul’s struggle better than Paul himself, who didn’t even dare to look outside? If the infection truly wasn’t in control, it showed just how much he did not trust himself to accidentally transfer information to the Hive and endanger them.

But Paul couldn’t properly sell himself as sane and in control with such a mindset. Someone had to step up and ensure his rights would be respected, that he wasn’t immediately killed, that he was given a chance. But Shay was a child, and most of the camp’s population would not listen to her. 

If Paul wasn’t going to believe in himself, Leighton and Shay would. But hopefully, he would grow more confident to win everyone’s trust. And maybe Martin wouldn’t attempt to kill him.


	9. Outside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! From now on, I'll be updating every week! And every once in a while, I might recommend a song to listen to while reading, but not for every chapter. Today, the song "Trees" from Twenty-One Pilots.

Three weeks.

Twenty-one days.

If Paul had a calendar, he would’ve crossed out each day as it passed. But they had no calendars in the camp and it was easy to remember how long he’s been here as is.

It was nothing special. Three weeks. They flew by incredibly fast. 

It was also an arbitrary deadline Shay had given him. At three weeks, he was supposed to go outside.

This was all good and well if it weren’t for Paul’s general anxiety of seeing anything other than the tent he was in, where there was no compromising information he could accidentally send into the Hive’s massive collective memory. And while he could speak pretty much without worrying about singing, he knew the “blue shit” was still inside of him. It recorded everything, no doubt about that.

But then Shay came in and she went all-out in coaching him to get out of the freaking tent, Paul, you can do this. 

What has his life become? He’s listening to a child trying to get him out of isolation

It was better than being trapped and living in a musical nightmare.

Still, taking those steps outside wasn’t easy. Luckily, there was Shay to encourage him and egg him on a little.

“This is it,” Shay said in her clearest, most motivational voice. “Today is the day. You will leave the tent.”

“I will leave the tent,” Paul said. He repeated that phrase in his head; the more he said it, the bigger the chance he would actually do it. He already stood upright, his gaze on the piece of fabric that now blocked his way out and, most importantly, his view. 

“Are you ready?” Shya asked. She stood next to the piece, her hand holding a piece. Ready to pull it aside. Ready to show Paul to the world. 

“Yes, I am,” Paul said, and he nodded. Shay pulled the fabric, and a ray of the sun fell into the tent, on Paul.

Fear gripped him and he instinctively closed his eyes. “Woah, wait, wait, not yet!” 

Why did this happen? He was ready to go into the world.

Or was he? 

Either way, this was embarrassing. 

“I’ll wait,” Shay said. She let go of the tent flap and the sun disappeared. “Whenever you’re ready, Paul.”

Paul nodded, opening his eyes again. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Okay.” He repeated his favorite comfort-phrase over and over again, going over all different intonations and stresses. 

“How often do you need to say that before you get out of here?” Shay jokingly said once the ‘okay’ count must have passed the hundred-mark already. Paul, who hadn’t realized how often he had said it, frowned at her. 

“I don’t…” he started, but he paused. How many times had the word escaped his mouth in the past minutes?

“I get it,” Shay said. After all, it was pretty scary for Paul, but him saying this word again and again only delayed the inevitable. 

“Okay,” Paul said, but he quickly corrected himself. “I mean, thanks. I—”

“Calm down,” Shay said. “Deep breaths. This is not bad.”

“What if it is, though?” Paul wondered out loud. What if there was something out there that he recognized because someone else connected to the Hive - that did not know of the camp’s location - had already seen it? He’d lead them right back there and that would be a disaster.

“It’s not worse than walking into a theater, right?” Shay said. 

“No,” Paul responded. The theater was still a bad place for him. “It’s… only slightly better.”

“Then you should do it,” Shay raised her voice. She was as excited about Paul leaving the tent as Paul as was anxious. “Or I swear I’ll drag you out myself.”

“How are you going to do that?”

Shay shrugged. “I’ll find a way.”

“Right.” He wasn’t going to get away with not exiting that tent today, was he? “Give me a minute.”

Paul closed his eyes, trying to regain some of that confidence that had fled as soon as the sun fell on him. It wasn’t that bad, he told himself. Just going outside and saying hi to the people from the camp would not be as bad as he thought it would be. It didn’t need to take too long either. Being outside may not seem appealing, but being outside for a minute was better than not being able to return to his tent for an hour after exiting it. He was gonna do it. He’d do it. He should do it.

Or maybe not. 

_“Are you serious? Just get it over with and do it.”_

Paul looked to his side. She wasn’t really there; Emma was still somewhere out there. But as usual, his mind knew exactly what she’d say, how she’d react. He pictured her standing there, in the cute barista outfit, arms folded, and a look that suggested she believed Paul to be an idiot at that point. It wasn’t exactly an encouraging look, but it was what Paul needed to see. 

She was right. If he delayed any longer, he might change his mind, still. If he did it without consideration for anything but stepping outside, he might actually do it.

Paul took a deep breath and looked at the tent flap. “Here goes.”

“Really?” Shay asked. Her hand reached for the flap again, but she didn’t immediately grab it now. 

“Just do it,” Paul said. Shay obeyed and pulled the flap aside. The sun flowed in again and Paul looked outside. In the immediate area outside of his tents, there were no obstacles, nothing he could trip over or hit his foot against. 

Fear came up again. This time, he shook his head.

Let’s compromise. 

Paul closed his eyes and moved forward. As expected, there was nothing that could throw him off balance, unless someone was waiting outside specifically to push him over. But nothing came, and so he continued to take slow steps, always forward, out of the tent. He was outside; a breeze hit him from the left, a cold wave persistently coming over him.

There. He was outside. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it’d be.

“Paul?” That was Shay. She must have followed him outside. “You can open your eyes now.”

Right. He still had to open his eyes.

Carefully, slowly, he opened them and he blinked in the sunlight. He eventually just stared ahead, to a group of tents that did not seem to hold much importance. A good thing to keep looking at, no threatening information to broadcast to the Hive. Luckily Shay stood in his eyesight so he wouldn’t have to turn his head. She was grinning widely and proudly, clapping for him. 

“There he is!” Josh shouted from across a field. Instinctively, Paul turned his head.

He saw more than he had wanted to. He was now aware of the width of the camp. He wasn’t good with surface area, but from what he could see, everything was grouped within an area of half a football field. There was hardly any space between the tents haphazardly set up in some sort of square, but walls made of wood must be going around them and keeping them safe from a possible future invasion. Other than that, he wasn’t paying attention to the many details, because a group of children was running towards him, with Josh leading the way.

Before he knew it, the kids were standing around him and Paul felt trapped. A dozen or so, maybe the entire child population of the camp, were swarming him and staring with interest. He wasn’t as scary now that he had exited his tent and the others now knew he looked like a normal person, too.

“Aren’t you cold?” Josh asked him.

Only then he realized all of the children were wearing some warmer clothes. Most of these clothes were some sizes bigger, but they at least weren’t cold. They were all dressed up compared to Paul, who just stood outside in his suit and tie from way back when and who wasn’t shivering as the cold breeze froze the children.

“No,” Paul said, “Not… not really.” He could feel the cold on his skin from the breeze, but he wasn’t feeling cold per se. It was a side-effect of being infected he could add to the long list of things that dehumanized him: no sleeping, no eating, no sense of warmth or coldness.

“Weirdo,” Josh said. Some of his friends chuckled or nodded in agreement. Paul wholeheartedly agreed with it - he was a weirdo - but wouldn’t give any semblance of his agreement except for a small smile.

He placed his hands in his pockets and looked around again. There was frost on the mud and grass, the gray and white clouds blocked the once blue sky. Was the winter really coming closer? It was summer when the meteor crashed - had he been out of control for some months? For an entire year and a half? Or maybe longer? 

“Nice camp,” Paul said to elicit a conversation to take his mind off of those thoughts. He didn’t want to think about all the things, all the time he had missed being trapped. 

“It could be better,” Shay responded. 

“I like it.” 

“Because this is the first time you see it.” Paul shrugged in response to Shay.

“Maybe. But I still like it.” He then let his eyes rest on her and he noticed that she still seemed a little worried. This was a stressful situation for him, after all, and she had no idea what was going on inside his head. Maybe for the better.

“I’m fine, by the way,” “I don’t… there’s no music in my head. I’m good.” There was no music in his head not even a fleeting tune from the Hive reminding him it was still inside. No lyrics suffocating him or pressing against his tongue to be sung; he felt none of that. Considering the Hive always made itself known during the stressful moments, this was good.

“You sure? ” Shay asked him. Paul nodded confidently.

“Yes, I am.” The children around him were happy with this - if he weren’t feeling well, they would not be standing around him. 

Right now, not only the children had noticed their resident normal-passing infected person had left his tent and had shown his face. From the other side of the square, some of the adults had grouped together and were whispering to one another, shooting suspicious looks at Paul. 

He could already see it happen: a crowd would develop, the more people came the louder it became. The more people, the bolder they’d be to say their minds. Some may be opposed to him. When a crowd roared, Paul was easily stressed out - a situation he did not want to be involved in, being in this state. 

“I’m gonna head back inside,” Paul told the children.

“Really?” Josh wondered. Maybe he had hoped Paul would be outside for longer than a few minutes.

“I feel more comfortable in there,” Paul explained. Especially when many preying eyes were pointed to him. Maybe he should’ve stayed inside.

“You can’t stay in that tent forever,” Shay said. 

“I can try,” Paul said. If he stayed in his tent, nothing bad could happen, even if it meant missing the outside world. 

The crowd had gotten bigger; twice as many people had gathered. And right across Paul’s tent, some people were also standing. Some of them specifically didn’t look at him, but the children standing around him.

“Hi,” Paul smiled uncomfortably and briefly waved at them before turning to Shay and the kids again. 

“Look, people are staring,” Paul explained. “They don’t like me and they don’t like it even less than you’re hanging out with me. So I’m gonna make them feel better by retreating into my tent.” And in doing so, he would also be making himself feel better by escaping from their gazes.

“Okay,” Josh said, “That’s disappointing.”

Paul sighed. These kids were hard to please. “I will come out tomorrow.”

“After saying ‘okay’ for a million times,” Shay joked. The other children frowned at her, did not understand why she would have said that. But Paul couldn’t suppress a smile. 

“What’s wrong with that?” he wondered out loud. 

“Nothing,” Shay said. Luckily, she didn’t take it as a serious question, “It’s just annoying to hear it come out of your mouth.”

Paul shook his head, the smile still on his face. “Just be glad I’m not singing.”

“True,” Shay said.

Paul turned around - his tent was only about ten yards away from his current position - based on how many small steps he’d taken before, he thought it would only be about half that distance. Either way, he was close to his tent and he couldn’t wait to be safely inside those walls again.

“Martin!”

That was Leighton. When Paul turned his head to the right, where Leighton’s shout came from, a gunshot rang through the air. He ducked as soon as he heard the noise and crouched down. Only after a few seconds, he dared to get up again and looked at his right. Paul caught how Callie and Leighton worked together to confiscate Martin’s rifle, while Martin himself defended his right to bear arms by holding it close and shouting they’d have to pull it from his cold dead hands. As Leighton held him back, Callie finally wrested the gun from his hands and she took some steps away from her father, to keep that distance. He may not be getting it back soon.

“What the hell?” Paul said to himself. He could barely comprehend what just had happened. Leighton immediately walked closer to Paul, who wasn’t moving and only stared at Martin and Callie and the rifle that Martin fortunately did not hold anymore. 

“We should go inside,” Leighton said as he was almost standing next to Paul.

“O-Okay.” Leighton grabbed Paul by his shoulder and they quickly walked into the tent. Once inside, Paul sat down on the bed while Leighton remained on his feet and nervously tapped his foot. 

“Leighton, what’s going on?” Paul asked. As soon as the words left his mouth, his brain decided to work and to put two and two together. Despite being infected, the thought made his stomach turn. “Did… Did Martin just try to shoot me?”

“Yes, he’s been wanting to do it since day one.” Well, that was direct. At least Paul wouldn’t need to wait for an entire explanation and dancing around the answer to actually hear it. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Paul wondered.

“I didn’t want to stress you even more,” Leighton explained. “You already have a lot going on. I didn’t want to add Martin attempting to kill you to that list.”

Paul nodded. “Okay.” Had he known Martin was out there with a loaded gun, he probably would not have even attempted to come out of the tent, let alone poke his head out. at least this way, that had a positive effect on him.

Leighton leaned in a little closer, a worried look on his face. Paul only glanced at him once before looking at the ground between his feet again. 

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah. Kind of,” Paul said, though he did not exactly feel alright. He hadn’t felt this bad in a long time. He hadn’t felt _anything _in a long time. The realization slowly came to him. “I could’ve been dead.”

“Luckily, you’re not,” Leighton said. 

“Because you still need me. For that cure.” The only reason why they had kept him. The only one who did not want to exploit him for his mysterious consciousness - based solely on the fact that he didn’t like musicals - was Shay.

“And because it’s a shame if you died without having been accepted into this family,” Leighton said. Paul frowned and looked quizzically at Leighton. Did he mean that or was he saying that just to make Paul feel better?

“I know it’ll take time, but come outside. Open up. The people will appreciate it and they’ll accept you.”

Oh. He meant it. Paul averted his gaze as soon as Leighton looked at him. 

“I’m not good at making friends.” He never really had been. He’d been lucky he and Bill got along so well at work, but that was, like, the only person in his life he would call his friend. Charlotte was a nice woman, Ted was a pain in the ass, but they were “acquaintances”. 

Besides, people don’t like it when people are different. Paul, at the moment, was very different. Making friends would be a little harder than it already was for him.

“You should try. Trying never hurt anyone,” Leighton suggested. “Though maybe you should stay inside for today.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning to go outside again.” After that gunshot, he’d be surprised if he would ever dare to leave the tent again, even if it now seemed like such a small and easy thing to do. 

“Great,” Leighton said. “See you tomorrow at breakfast.”

“Breakfast?”

But Leighton had already left the tent. He didn’t answer Paul’s question.

From Shay, Paul had learned that they all ate communally in one big tent somewhere. Everyone in the camp gathered in there to eat breakfast and dinner, spread through the day so that they didn’t need any lunch and could eat some candy bar in the evening to satiate their hunger until they went to bed. 

But Paul didn’t need to eat. Leighton knew that. So why invite him over to breakfast?

Unless this was a move to make Paul come out of the tent and force him to socialize a little. He was probably going to ask Shay to bring him to the food tent so that Paul wouldn’t get lost or miss it by an hour or so.

Paul already decided for himself to try not to be difficult about it and to allow himself to be dragged to that other tent, among the people.

It couldn’t be that bad. 


	10. Interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone!

Going out to the tent really wasn’t as bad as he imagined it to be. This was yet another example of Paul imagining things would be worse and that he would miserably fail at the socializing part. Yes, people looked at him and stared inappropriately. He felt like they alienated him beyond his being infected. He was an easy target; he was silent and didn’t eat (because he didn’t need to) and sat awkwardly on his own. 

But there luckily were also people who did not get his infection stand in the way of approaching him. Shay, Josh, and some other kids sat by his side while they ate their breakfasts and dinners and every once in a while, Callie or Leighton joined him as well, probably to normalize the image of Paul and to make him look more approachable. Still, whenever Callie joined him, Martin kept a close eye on him. After all, he wanted nothing to happen to his only surviving child. Nothing ever happened; Martin just imagined something would.

And Paul grew in his comfort. Though he didn’t notice this himself, he smiled more and talked more openly about some tougher subjects. At the mention of Hatchetfield or how he got infected, he stopped speaking. The people learned not to ask about this, figured that Paul would talk about it when he was ready.

At long last, four weeks after Paul’s arrival at the camp, one week after he first started to expand his world beyond the tent he lived in, Paul sought Leighton. This search was short and Shay even pointed him in the right direction. Apparently, Leighton stayed mostly in his own assigned tent, two tents from where Paul lived.

The tent was small, but they somehow crammed four stretcher beds into here. Four beds for four men who were probably roaming around the camp, not willing to stay inside with such limited space, despite the cold growing stronger and time progressed deeper into winter.

Leighton himself sat on one stretcher, reading a piece of paper. He hadn’t even noticed Paul walked in until Paul made his presence clear by coughing once. Leighton lifted his head and put the papers away. 

“Hi,” Leighton said. “I hadn’t expected to see you here. Is something wrong?”

“No,” Paul said. “Not at all. I just want to know where I can find those scientists you talked about.”

* * *

“What’s on those papers, anyway?”

They had just exited the tent so that Leighton could bring Paul to the scientists. It wasn’t like he was excited to be interviewed and tested by those three people, but now he felt comfortable walking around the camp, he’d rather get this over with so that he could move on from this as well. Paul hadn’t said this in as many words, but Leighton probably guessed this was the reason. 

Leighton shrugged in response to Paul’s question. “It’s just a grocery list.”

Paul frowned. “Really?” He had expected it to be some important piece of paper, a way of communicating with everyone what was going on and what would be changed in the future.

Then again, Paul still couldn’t believe it was winter. He thought of things that weren’t as evident. Okay, they couldn’t mail one another because there weren’t computers, but he hadn’t realized yet that they also didn’t have printers or would waste paper by writing the important changes on them when they could just gather everyone and say it out loud.

So, Leighton had been reading a grocery list. Out of all the things Paul would have otherwise believed it was, a grocery list wouldn’t have come to mind.

“Someone needs to keep the camp stocked up,” Leighton said. “One of those people is me. I’m usually going to the closest town or village to look for food that lasts, to grab medicine and appliances. Anything that could help us. Priority is with blankets, water, and more aspirin and similar medicine.” 

Paul nodded. With the cold came also bacteria and more cold-related illnesses. At least the people that lead this camp had kept this in mind. 

“So you often leave the camp, then?” Paul wondered.

Leighton nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“That’s risky.”

“That’s part of the job.”

“Aren’t you afraid to be infected? To join the Hive?”

Leighton shook his head. He took a deep breath and briefly looked at Paul with a defeated gaze. “If they try to infect me, I will blow myself up.”

Paul blinked once, then twice, then turned his head away. His mind did not work for a few seconds, just blank as he tried to process what Leighton had so casually said. Was that a joke? He couldn’t be joking. Maybe he used this over the top metaphor just to convey that he wouldn’t mind dying for the greater good or killing some infected.

“I’m not joking,” Leighton clarified when he noticed Paul did not know what to do with this info. “The knowledge that I have is too dangerous to fall into the Hive’s hands. Everyone here is at risk if I’m infected. To prevent them from finding this base, I will blow myself up with some self-made explosives if they come too close.”

Even though Leighton had already said this, Paul was still shocked. One answer encompassed exactly what he was thinking at that moment.

“What?”

And Leighton figured this required more explanation as well. 

“Everyone with important info has explosives. Me and the other suppliers, the guards because they know all the weak spots, the leaders are in contact with other camps. If one of them is infected…” Leighton shook his head. “Not only would it mean we doomed our camp, but we’ll have doomed other survivors too. So, these explosives are a safeguard.”

Paul nodded, still shocked and not sure what to say.

“That’s…” he paused. “That’s efficient.” He should’ve said something else. Efficient? Yes, it was, but it was also tragic and smart and many other adjectives that he couldn’t get out. At least Leighton agreed with him.

“Yes. It’s not easy, but at least we’re all willing to keep this info away from the Hive.”

And Paul applauded and respected them for that, even if the desperate measures were a safeguard for these desperate times.

The rest of the short road to the scientists’ separate tent, they walked in silence. Some vegetation separated the tent from the rest of the camp, but it still lay within the camp’s borders. A far as Paul understood it, they were isolated by choice, and not for some other reason. They liked the quiet and under the guise of finding a cure, they had the privilege of working and living in private. 

Since Paul did not know them and was new to the base, he did not have an opinion. He was too busy to be nervous for the meeting to have an opinion. 

“They’re inside,” Leighton said when Paul stopped in front of the tent flap. “You don’t have to answer some questions if you don’t want to. I’ll be there as well, as a witness. They have the habit of stressing people out.”

Paul nodded. These words were comforting for him.

“Thanks,” he said.

Leighton and Paul walked into the tent and Paul halted. He didn’t know where to look; there were so many interesting details in the tent, from the research area to the little break area they had installed to the side. Tape ran over the fabric-covered ground, separating the different areas. Fabric covered the back of the tent, covering something that Paul and Leighton and other visitors should not see.

Paul didn’t need to see it. Three infected were in the back of the tent. He could sense them, now that he was closer to them. They sensed him, too. They did not sing or dance to distract Paul, to draw his attention. Their close proximity was enough to have Paul doubt why he came in the first place.

“There he is!” Clarke said loudly, announcing Paul’s presence to his mentors, Hoover and Jameson. They immediately dropped whatever they were doing and came closer to their new test subject. Leighton positioned himself in such a way that he stood protectively in front of Paul without completely blocking him from the scientists.

“Easy, guys,” Leighton said.

“We have a room prepared for you,” Hoover said.

“Okay,” Paul said. 

Paul decided he did not like the tone the woman used. It was not enough to make him dislike her, but he did feel at unease around her and her two male colleagues. It did not help that Leighton did not seem to like or trust them either. 

They walked into another tent, bordering on the big research tent. The purpose of this tent was clear from the set-up. Three chairs lined up perfectly faced a fourth, isolated in the middle. It was the only chair with armrest and leather straps were attached to it. At the side stood makeshift tables with different surgical tools and three lab coats lay next to the entrance.

Paul knew where he was going to sit down. He hesitated when he noticed the leather.

“What are those straps for?” Paul wondered.

“For everyone’s protection,” Jameson said. Paul liked his tone more than Hoover’s; he sounded more sincere. “You can never be cautious enough.”

_They’re going to strap me in. _Paul sat down in the chair and expected Clarke to come over and to strap Paul in, but that did not happen. The three scientists just sat down on their chairs while Leighton stood behind them, a silent reminder for Paul to stay calm._ Not as bad as living in a musical. _

“Let’s begin with some easy questions,” Jameson said. “What’s your name?”

“Paul Matthews.”

“When were you infected?” 

“Last summer.” They looked at him as if they expected a more specific date. Last summer could be anything; Paul could be infected for a much longer time than he was aware of. “In 2018.”

None of the scientists gave him any current time indication. Paul was kept in the dark about his time being infected for now. He’d have to ask Leighton at the end of the interview.

“Where did this happen?” Hoover asked. 

“My home town.” Again, they stared and waited for more specific data. “In Hatchetfield.”

This piece of information changed everything. A glint of recognition flashed across their eyes - they had heard of Hatchetfield and the disaster. They wouldn’t have known the town otherwise, because nobody ever knows Hatchetfield. They all know about Clivesdale, though, but not its neighboring rival city (in Paul’s opinion, the better of the two). (Fuck Clivesdale).

“Oh,” Clarke said, his voice more high-pitched. He shifted in his seat and looked at Paul with more interest than before. “Do you know what happened over there?” 

“I don’t know,” Paul said. “I… so much has happened that day and…” He couldn’t get the words out of his mouth. Memories rushed back in, things he had not thought about because they’d been repressed. 

“Can you be more specific?” Hoover asked impatiently.

“I…” He gulped and blinked more often. Each time he blinked, a fraction of a moment flashed before his eyes. Charlotte and her blue intestines hanging out of her as she sang about killing them. Bill, on the ground, bleeding out. The army marching closer, circling them, singing their war song, the tune sounding clearer in his mind, the drums in his ear.

“That enough,” Leighton said. His voice brought Paul back to reality and silenced the drums. 

“Leighton—” Clarke said. 

“Next question,” Leighton interrupted him. 

Somehow, hearing Leighton’s name triggered a melody that Paul did not know, a cheerful tune about working boys. He did not know why it would come up - it probably only appeared because the infected in the other tent were near and were thinking about it, or singing it. 

The questioning continued. Paul was urged to basically describe how life is being infected and consciously living with this infection. They went into details that Paul had not yet thought of before because it had never come up again. He learned more about his current situation along with Leighton and the scientists. Leighton only needed to step in three more times whenever Paul felt too uncomfortable asking a question. If these questions had something to do with being infected, they were minor and would not impede the research or leave too big gaps in their knowledge.

After what was probably an hour or maybe an hour and a half, they had exhausted all of their questions in their repertoire. Clarke announced the end by standing up and stretching his body. He did not want to stand up or walk around during the interview, so as not to distract Paul. Now he did stand up and Jameson leaned in closer towards him.

“That was all we needed to know,” Jameson told him. Paul nodded and took a deep breath of relief. It was over. He didn’t have to answer their questions anymore. If he weren’t infected, his throat would probably hurt and be dry for the remainder of the day.

“Unless you’d like to elaborate a little on Hatchetfield?” Hoover asked. Paul shook his head, but Leighton provided Paul’s thoughts again.

“He does not,” he said. Hoover rolled her eyes, but she did not attempt to ask Paul any more questions. She may be irritable, but she knew when to stop and she may not be on Leighton’s bad side either. He seemed to be the only one who regularly came over and their only link to the rest of the camp.

Paul stood up from the chair. He couldn’t wait to get out of this tent and then return to his own. 

“Then we’ll only need to do some tests,” Clarke said. Those words made Paul feel stressful again. Couldn’t they have said anything while they were still doing all the questioning?

“Not on you,” Jameson clarified when he noticed Paul’s distress. “On your DNA.”

“You’ll need to give up some blood and hair,” Hoover told him. Paul nodded a couple of times.

“Okay.” He sat back down in the chair and looked at Leighton. Again, his presence calmed him, though he did not like the fact that they would poke a needle in him. He wasn’t going to protest it, though. It was just a little prick. Besides, he was infected. Maybe he really wouldn’t feel it at all. 

“We’re gonna strap you in,” Clarke then said and he walked over to Paul. He kept talking while he restrained Paul by his wrists. “Just a safety measure. It’s nothing against you.”

Paul nodded, but he did not say a word. He tensed up a little; the straps were tight and Hoover was approaching him with a needle and a pair of scissors. On one side, at least they would pull some hair out. On the other, Hoover was going to jam a needle into his arm and he was not looking forward to it. 

First, Hoover cut off a small amount of hair from the back of Paul’s head, not noticeable that it had been cut. Then, the positioned herself in front of him, the needle in hand. 

Paul normally wouldn’t watch this happen. He never really liked needles. He wasn’t as bad about them as some people were, but he never really liked it either. But today, he had to watch it. He couldn’t not see it happen. For the first time, he wanted to see his own blood being drawn.

They would only take a small sample, but they might ask for more later. They probably would. But for now, they left it at one dose.

Paul’s nervous look turned into a frown when blood filled the container. He had no idea what he was expecting it to look, whether he thought it’d be any different, but he was confused by the deep purple color. A mix of his red blood and the blue shit that had invaded it. He couldn’t tell whether the color was more red than blue or vice versa. He didn’t want to know what the implications were, but he knew he did not like the fact that his blood wasn’t normal. And he disliked it even more than he wasn’t bleeding out when Hoover removed the needle from his skin. 

“That was all,” Hoover said coldly. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“You’re welcome,” Paul said. It was more a reflex than being polite to her. They freed him from the straps and he stood from the chair. He kept his hand on the spot where the needle had been, to stop the bleeding that didn’t come. Leighton immediately came to him and brought him out of the tent. Had he said goodbye to the scientists? Paul didn’t know, didn’t care. He did care about being outside again, in the noon sun, out of that tent and away from the infected, whom he sensed less and less as they moved away from it.

“Are you okay?” Leighton asked him. Paul sighed and he shrugged. How did he feel about this? It was hard to untangle everything at the moment or understand everything he was feeling at the moment. 

“I don’t know,” Paul said. “But that’s done. One less thing to worry about.”

Leighton stopped Paul and placed a hand on his shoulder, looking him right in his eyes. “I’m proud you did it. Who knows, very soon, we’ll have a cure. We can help people.”

Paul nodded once. “Yeah.” Maybe. If his data was actually useful. If his DNA would actually be helpful. Paul had no idea how they could possibly construct a cure in that tent, with their limited equipment. If they could, it would probably still take a little longer.

They continued their way back to the camp and Paul was relieved when he saw his tent. Before he could walk over there and Leighton could go his own way, Callie spotted them and she ran towards them. Paul assumed that she needed to quickly tell Leighton something; whether it would be bad or good was to be seen. But as she got closer and nearly crashed into Leighton, it became clear the news must be bad. She was crying, her eyes red and her cheeks stained with the tears that she had already cried. Paul instinctively took a step away from Callie - not because he didn’t care, but because he did not know how to react. At least Leighton was socially capable enough to pull Callie in a comforting hug and to calm her down.

“What’s going on?” Leighton asked her. 

“It’s my dad,” Callie said between sobs. “He’s dead.”


	11. Ashes

Martin could not see the good that Paul brought to the table. He only saw another opportunity to become infected, another failure of this camp’s leadership and faulty systems. They shouldn’t be getting infected people in, based on trust after only two days - they shouldn’t allow any of them to come in at all. 

He did realize his actions were rash and that he wouldn’t get away with trying to shoot Paul a second time. That did not mean he stopped making plans to get rid of him. While he did not plan to try to shoot Paul again, other plans had started to form - plans that he had told nobody about, out of fear of being found out. Some plans included chopping off Paul’s head when he wasn’t looking, a stake through the heart and aggravating Paul to the brink of losing control and egging on the guards to shoot Paul while he wasn’t “in control”.

He never spoke these ideas, but he did write them down. Callie shook her head as she read through these incriminating notes. She should have known that Martin wasn’t going to give up on killing an infected so easily. 

It’s a good thing he never got to act upon these plans. 

Nothing was going on. Martin had been walking back to his tent from the food tent when he just collapsed. Cardiac arrest. All help came too late, and any help would not have yielded any results. They were still in a survival camp with minimal electricity facilities and almost nothing beyond the most needed and basic medicine. Not even reanimation could help him because those who knew what to do arrived on the scene a little too late.

Callie didn’t blame anyone. She didn’t want to blame anyone. Nobody was responsible for his death, because everyone would have done their best to save her father, even if they had no clue or panicked too much to provide adequate help. If she blamed someone, she’d come close to resembling her late father, yelling and shouting and unable to be reasoned with unless she had returned to her usual calm self.

She didn’t want to shout angrily at someone who hadn’t deserved it. So without anyone to blame, there was only grief and sorrow and she sobbed and cried. Some people tried to comfort her, to no or little avail. 

The world was a cruel place and today it was especially cruel to her.

The sun reached it highest point when Callie had stopped sobbing uncontrollably. That did not take away the sadness, the emptiness inside. She just had no tears left to cry at that moment. With the drying of tears, the clouds on her mind we're partially lifted, but the remaining clouds left her numb.

She sat in front of her tent and stared ahead, at one and the same point, for a long time, only her and her thoughts. Many people crossed that point, but she didn’t bat an eye.

Only when Leighton passed her view did she change the position of her head. He was looking at her, a sorry and sorrowful look in his eyes. He did not slow his place and instead of approaching her and speaking calming and soothing words of comfort; he continued to walk and ignored her.

This briefly distracted her from her loss. It was very unlike Leighton, such a compassionate person, to just leave her by the side when she clearly was feeling miserable. She was bewildered for five minutes before the thought of her father pushed itself to the forefront again.

And then, an undetermined amount of time later, the same thing occurred. Leighton came into view, their gazes crossed and Leighton clearly noticed her, but he chose not to come to her to comfort her - many people already took up that role - but it was odd, to say the least.

Leighton was acting weird. She needed to know what was going on with him. So, for the first time in at least an hour or two, three, she stood up from where she sat and followed the usually compassionate man.

“Leighton!” Callie said, walking at a fast pace. He stopped in his tracks but did not turn to face her.

“Are you avoiding me?” she asked him. Leighton turned around and looked at her. He had this still sorrowful but also guilty look on his face.

“Yes,” he said upfront. The honesty of his statement took her aback. “Yes, I am. I’d rather not talk about it, but if I stay silent, it’s going to bother me for years.”

Callie, though she knew Leighton only a couple of months, knew this was true. One of his bad characteristics was this immense sense of responsibility for anyone he had ever helped once. She wouldn’t be surprised if Leighton considered himself responsible for every single person in this camp, especially because he was one of the guys that literally spent most of his time outside of the camp to loot nearby cities and villages for their survival. And while she did not know him for that long, she believed him when he said he would be bothered for years by even the smallest mistake, which could come back to haunt him in five years.

“What is it?” Callie asked him. Leighton avoided her gaze now, but soon focused again and looked in her eyes. 

“My negligence killed Martin,” he said, carrying the weight of this loss on his shoulders. Callie was confounded for a few moments before she shook her head. She took a step towards him.

“That’s not true,” she said. Leighton took a step backward.

“It is,” Leighton said. When Callie still wasn’t ready to believe this, Leighton was willing to say more about his reasoning. 

“Let me explain. I…” That was not a great start. He did find his words, but as he continued he did not look directly at her again. “Last week, on the supply run, I came across a defibrillator, an AED. I could’ve brought it with me. I should have. But I didn’t. I left it there. Not because it weighed too much or because it was too big. I just…” He lifted his head and looked at the white and gray sky and he sighed deeply. 

He brought his head down again and continued. “I don’t know why I didn’t bring it with me. I might have thought it’d be a bit clumsy to carry. My bag in one hand, the AED in the other. I think I thought it’d just stand in the way, that it’d be dropped first if the infected found and chased me. So I left it there.” 

Leighton shook his head, his hand on his mouth. He needed a moment before he could continue on. “If I had taken that damn thing back here, Martin would be alive now.”

So that was what was bothering him. Callie did not know what to say to this statement at first - because she didn’t know what to think about it, either. In the end, she came closer towards him and he let her this time. She stopped when he was just one step away.

“You have nothing to do with the death of my father,” she told him. Leighton shook his head in disagreement. 

“I should have…”

“Maybe,” Callie interrupted him. “But you didn’t know what would happen. And you brought the medicine, so we’ll survive longer.” There was a short pause, some space for Leighton to backtrack and say he agreed with her. But he didn’t - the guilt was too big. So, Callie continued. “With the world going to shit, I don’t think any of us thought a cardiac arrest would kill him.”

This briefly brought a smile to his face. He immediately wiped it off, thinking it was inappropriate.

“So you’re not mad at me?” Leighton asked her, just to be sure. 

“I’m not,” Callie responded, “because it’s not something to be mad about.” Leighton smiled again, in relief this time. Her acceptance eased his guilt. Callie stretched her arms towards her, an invitation for an embrace. Leighton accepted and stepped forward, hugging Callie.

“Thank you,” he said, “and I’m sorry.” 

“Thanks. But no worries,” she responded. 

They remained there for some more minutes before Leighton had to go again. 

* * *

Noon passed. So did the afternoon. Night fell much earlier lately based on memories from weeks, months ago. The sun was already setting when some people were appointed to build the funeral pyre. The sooner they could get rid of the body, the better. 

Leighton had come to Callie again so that she would not be alone when the funeral would start. Soon everyone gathered around, even though it had yet to begin. Nobody wanted to miss their last chance to say goodbye to the grumpy old man that loved his guns and defended everyone fiercely. One side of him that Paul did not have the pleasure to get to know.

Just as his mind wandered to the infected in their midst, he watched the tent where Paul lived. And Paul had left his tent and was slowly, hesitantly, walking towards them. 

Leighton frowned. “Paul?” He hadn’t realized he said it out loud until Callie spoke; 

“Paul’s coming?” Callie asked out loud, and then she saw Paul as well. They both watched him amble over towards them, hands in his pocket, glancing around nervously. He was not feeling comfortable to leave his tent. And yet he came. 

“Hi,” Leighton said when Paul was standing right next to them. “I thought you wouldn’t come.” Especially because Paul had only ever seen Martin’s ugliest sides. Because he had only one reference point and hadn’t exactly been treated right by him.

“Neither did I, but here I am,” Paul said. He glanced at the pyre. “So, what’s going to happen exactly?”

“Not much,” Leighton said. “You’ll see it when it happens.”

Paul nodded once. Then he looked at Callie. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks for coming,” she told him in return.

Paul nodded again. He looked away from her and towards the main event: the funeral pyre that they had been building for a while. 

The pile of wood was finally big enough. Made from logs that probably were once meant to make campfires elsewhere were repurposed for the funeral pyre. It was barely big enough to fit a person, Paul would guess. But during this time of year, he could understand they did not want to waste too much wood, with the coming winter.

The pile of wood, currently unlit, had gathered a crowd. Nobody felt like continuing their work. Paul was astounded by their solidarity and support. That was what happened when you lived closely with people for such a long time. It was already unfortunate they all met and (hopefully) became friends because of something horrible, and they now lost that person. 

Something else Paul hadn’t expected: nobody ran around not knowing what was going on or wondering what they had to do. Some people had made the pyre, someone else would light it and the others waited for the event to start. This was not the first time this had happened. How many others who had made it to this camp had died during these few months?

Only when the sky became darker did the ceremony start. Two people carried the body to the pyre - they had stripped Martin of his clothes except for his underwear. Other than that, they did not even wrap him in a blanket. They needed all the blankets they have. They placed him on the pyre and someone else lit it.

Within ten minutes, every piece of wood was aflame, and so was Martin’s body. Callie cried while a friend of hers was hugging her. Leighton stood next to her as well, rubbing her back with a comforting hand. Shay was close to both of them, crying herself, but trying to stay strong for Callie. And Paul couldn’t take his eyes off of Martin’s body being eaten by the flames.

And Paul looked at the darkening sky. The black smoke rising from the pyre would hardly be visible, and he hoped that their security around the camp was also sufficient in blocking out most of the light the fire would produce. He couldn’t deny there was a glow that would go beyond the borders and that, if any infected were to walk by and see it, could easily determine now that this was a place where some survivors were staying. Then there was the smell, that may also draw attention. Despite their attempts to mask the funeral from the outside world, they could still be found out. It was still a dangerous practice.

Paul understood the reasoning behind burning the bodies: there would be nothing to infect or take over. But if these people ever got found out because of the pyre, they would probably bury their dead.

At least Martin could never be infected. He probably wouldn’t have handled it well. 


	12. One made it

The scientists got to work as soon as they had their samples. They barely left their tent and only sent out Clarke to retrieve more samples from Paul, just to keep in their storage for the time that they might need more, but he always came back empty-handed. This was not a disaster, because they still could continue their work without those extra samples.

Time passed. Days, weeks. The scientists remained cooped up in their tent. They did not even leave it when the skies remained quiet and dark as the new year came around. With their minds on spring and the possibilities of a cure.

At long last, they had a small sample. The formula they’d developed was highly experimental, but since this was their seventh or eighth attempt at a formula, they were hopeful that this formula would produce their first attempt at a cure. It took them a long time to create this cure, given their limited material, but they eventually came to a small vial that, once vaporized and released into the cages of the infected, would have maximum effect. Whether the cure would have any effect on the infected would be determined as the experimental cure was released.

They did that this morning. The vaporized cure was released into the cages. The infected did not breathe, they did not need to. But it was a reflex, a habit from when they needed to breathe in before belting out a line like they would if they were human. They started a protest song. They had barely sung the first line before they started coughing and didn’t stop. They fell down and now, two hours later, they still remained there.

They had started a quarantine. Clarke, Hoover and Jameson agreed to not come too close until at least seventy-two hours had passed. The infected were restless and if they faked death, they wouldn’t last that long without singing and dancing. If they were dead, they wouldn’t move at all. If it did work - as unlikely as it was at this point - they would just talk and they’d know that person was cured, for now. After all, they didn’t know whether the cure removed or only suppressed the infection. Those were questions for later.

Clarke was gathering all the right ingredients for a second version of the cure. Until the prescribed three days were over, there wasn’t much else he could do to advance their knowledge on the subject; he would either have to move on with the second version or continue with what they had to modify it. The results of their first and currently only possible test would determine what their path would be. For now, they had to be content analyzing Paul’s samples some more. 

Then Clarke heard something he hadn’t heard in a long time. He didn’t look, but someone was vomiting inside the tent, and it came from the side where their infected prisoners were staying.

He turned his head. One of them was indeed vomiting. That was not the sign they’d been hoping for, but it was a sign nonetheless. The infected did not usually throw up. 

“One of them made it,” Clarke said in an indifferent tone, turning his head away. This would alert Jameson and Hoover that one of them had woken up if the stench of his last lunch hadn’t already alerted them. 

Jameson came over from behind Clarke. Hoover didn’t immediately come; she must be in their extension tent, where they’d keep most of their equipment and where they had interrogated Paul. Maybe it was better that Jameson was here and not Hoover; he might break some of the bad news in a more nuanced, more humane way than the blunt and short sentences Hoover would offer the recovering man.

The man, whom they would not name. The man who ought to be as anonymous as possible to minimize the risk of any of them becoming attached to them. Attachment was not something they could permit in their field of work. What if that man died? What if he regressed back into singing and dancing? It was easier to watch a random person die than someone you knew and cared for, than someone who had a name.

Clarke did turn his head to follow the conversation. This was going to be interesting to see.

“Morning,” Jameson told the man, a polite smile on his face. “How are you feeling?”

And that short introduction was exactly the reason why Jameson was the best man for the job. Clarke would fail terribly and Hoover wouldn’t even attempt to make small talk that might make this man more comfortable.

The man lifted his head and eyed Clarke and Jameson suspiciously. Still, he answered boldly and irritatedly. “Like I fucking died and came back to life.” His voice was raspy from the vomit, but he seemed otherwise fine, sitting on his knees.

They had not yet been able to confirm this, but this would be a great start to identifying this feeling as standard after the cure has been administered. For all they knew now, this man had died and the cure had brought him back.

“Good news. You are alive,” Jameson told him.

The previously infected man rolled his eyes. “Great.” He grabbed the bars and pulled himself up on it, then used it as a support. He was still weak on his feet; a sharp contrast to the professional dancer they’d observed all those months. His eyes darted through the room, going quickly from one object to the other. Clarke assumed the man could not make sense of what was going on or tried to figure it out on his own. What an idiot - he wouldn’t be able to without their help.

“Where the fuck am I?” the man said.

“You’re in our research tent,” Clarke responded dryly, “I thought that was obvious.”

The man could not appreciate this attempted humor. He did not like them nor trust them. Clarke could say the same about that man. Even like this, with those generic clothes and that stupid mustache, he just had the most unsympathetic look imaginable. If Clarke had to describe the person he would trust the least, it would be a description of this man.

“Can you be a little more specific?” His voice rose slightly in annoyance. 

Jameson decided it would be best if he did the talking. He did not verbalize this, but Clarke did not feel like talking to that man. He had better things to do, anyway.

“Out of safety reasons, we cannot disclose this information to you,” Jameson said. The man remained silent for a little while, in which he expressed his irritation with exaggerated facial expressions and hand movements.

“Are you fucking…” He stopped himself mid-sentence and then continued after a deep breath. “So you can’t tell me anything?”

“We can’t give you sensitive information, but we cannot give this to anyone else either,” Jameson replied. Clarke shook his head. He didn’t need to be this vague. Why not just answer with a yes, we can’t say anything. They nuances could be explained to that confused man later, when they were certain that he was not going to regress into the infection.

“What the hell is going on?” The man raised his voice and clenched the bars in his hands, leaning forward so that his head rested on the bars. “You’d better have a fucking good answer, because _this _is not great.”

Jameson turned to Clarke to catch a glimpse of his ideas on the situation. But Clarke refused to even acknowledge him right now, so Jameson decided to give the man some answers that would not violate their self-imposed secrecy rule. After all, they still did not know how much this man knew, so this could now be perfectly gauged. 

“In July of 2018, an infection spread,” Jameson explained, “It is rather unique, as it makes people sing and dance and murderous. How much are you aware of this happening?”

“How aware I am?” The man asked. He shook his head indignantly and did not look away from the scientist. “I am _very _aware. They chased me around for hours until they got me.” A shiver went down his spine - whether this was an unconscious reaction of his body or whether he remembered the possibly gruesome details was unknown to them.

“As you may realize, you’re not singing and dancing,” Jameson said.

“Which is great,” The man deadpanned. 

“Do you remember being in the infected state?” 

Again, the man shook his head. This time, he did not look at the scientists, trying to recall anything that had happened to him while he was infected. Still, he did not take too much time to answer.

“The last thing I remember is ingesting some disgusting blue shit and then waking up here.” He looked away again, and the general irritated look in his eyes changed into one of confusion and then of realization. Finally, his brain had caught up with the truth and his current situation. “Wait a minute, am I not… infected?”

Clarke believed the man would refuse to say the word, but he only said it after some hesitation. Not about whether to say it, but whether that was the right term used for it. 

Jameson nodded. “So far, that is the case You have been infected for a good six months, but we gave you a cure. We are currently in February of 2019.”

The man was utterly shocked. He let go of the bars and stood on his own leg for a couple of seconds, too dumbstruck to react in any other way. Then, he grasped one of the bars again, looked everywhere in the tent, trying to wrap his head around the amount of time that had passed while he had been dead or asleep.

“2019 already…” The man whispered to himself. He shook his head. “The world’s gone to shit, right?”

“America has,” Clarke answered.

“If the other parts of the world have succumbed to the infection, they have not communicated that with us yet,” Jameson elaborated. “Either way, they have not been in contact with us.”

“Of course they haven’t,” the man said.

For the first time, Clarke found himself agreeing with something their previously infected test subject said. He had not been in the initial outbreak area when it started spreading and he only vaguely learnt that all over Europe, flights to and from the United States, Canada, and Mexico had been suspended. Whether any other action was taken or the infection made it down to South America or even crossed an ocean was unknown to any of the American survivors. With a bit of luck, it hadn’t spread across the globe yet. With a bit of luck, it was just their continent that was unlucky enough to have the meteorite land there. 

“So,” the man eventually said. “when can I get out of here?”

Jameson and Clarke’s eyes met. They confirmed what the other was thinking - not for another sixty hours. Jameson turned to the man again, while Clarke finished his job setting up the station for a reproduction of the version of the cure they gave their three test subjects.

“Since the medicine, the cure, we administered is highly experimental, we will need you to cooperate for a couple more days, maybe weeks,” Jameson said. “Only then can you leave.”

The man did not like this development. 

“Weeks?” He exclaimed, indignantly. “So what, I’m a test subject now?”

“Yes, you are,” Clarke said and he finally turned his full attention to the previously infected man.

“Until we can completely and safely say that you are indeed no longer infected, you can leave,” Jameson added, so it at least wouldn’t sound too heartless. The man shook his head, not placated by Jameson’s politeness.

“Jesus Christ…” He muttered to himself. Jesus would not help him out of this situation. He ran his fingers through his hair and a rumbling sound escaped from his stomach, loud enough for Clarke and Jameson to hear.

“I can get something to eat, right?” the man asked them. Jameson nodded.

“Of course you can. We will share it with you until you can leave.”

“Great, ‘cause I’m starving.”

If it wasn’t evident by the growl of his stomach, Clarke would still have wholeheartedly believed this man. After all, he did not know how hard it was to sing and dance involuntarily, and whether it consumed a lot of energy. It must be, even with the alien substance governing their every move and canceling any free thought.

“Do you remember feeling hungry while infected?” Jameson asked. The man shook his head.

“I can’t remember shit about being infected,” he responded, not willing to elaborate any further. Maybe, with this answer, he hoped to be left in peace. But he wasn’t exactly in the position to make demands, or refuse their testing. 

And Clarke wanted to test his memory. It would be simple and easy, and it would at least confirm whether the infected remembered singing about certain topics if they reoccurred enough.

“Ready for the first test?” Clarke asked the man. He shrugged half-heartedly.

“I guess?”

“Leighton,” Clarke said with full conviction, waiting for the usual outburst of their favorite song. But this time it stayed silent. The man frowned upon hearing the name; Clarke thought he saw a glimmer of familiarity in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as Clarke spotted it.

“Who is that?” The man eventually said. “Am I supposed to know this?”

“Congratulations, you passed the first test,” Clarke then announced. “We will continue tomorrow, after you’ve rested a little more.”

The man nodded hesitantly. He must not have a good opinion of them, based on the first test. Well, tomorrow he would get the testing that he might expect. His opinion on them might still change. But for now, Clarke was certain the man thought they were weirdos.

“Aren’t you gonna wake up the others?” The man then asked them. 

Clarke and Jameson looked at one another. They had not considered that he would inquire about his fellow victims.

“We can’t,” Jameson answered. “They’re either dead or infected and faking death to get out. They don’t have a heartbeat either way. If they are infected, they’ll probably target you within days. If not, they’re really dead.” 

This was a bombshell for their guest. He glanced to his right and his left, to the bodies in the other cages, grossed out. He stayed in the middle of his cage after this revelation, unable to utter another word.

Then the man’s stomach growled again.

“I’ll go ask for our meals,” Clarke said, and he walked out of the tents.

Eventually, they got their meals. Afterward, Clarke had the privilege to clean up the vomit while Hoover held a gun aimed at the man’s head. Their test subject protested this course of action, saying he would not attack them, but Hoover cannot be easily dissuaded. She did not trust the man, hence the gun. He asked for Jameson to hold the gun, but Hoover refused to hand it over. 

Maybe the man believed Jameson would go easy on him. He was wrong - whether Hoover, Jameson, or Clarke had to keep the gun pointed at the man, they would all shoot him if he turned out to be still infected. None of them would hesitate.


	13. Day 89

Time passed so quickly, Paul hadn’t realized it was February already until Callie let him know. The weather was still as terrible as it had been, but if he were to believe Callie, it felt warmer than before. A couple of degrees of warmer temperatures would do wonders. It announced the winter was coming to a close; that the cold was leaving them behind, that there would be more foliage to help hide them.

But Paul did not feel this change. As everyone else had walked around in warmer clothes, Paul continued to walk around in the same suit he had worn when he was infected. He did not smell, he did not smell. Only when the suit was dirty did he bring it in for laundry, borrowing someone else’s suit for the time being until he could put on his own suit again.

After this long shift, he’d have to in his suit again. There was dirt all over it, especially at the feet and legs. His shoes were basically ruined - the combination of rain and mud and no shelter made sure of that. There was no stopping, there was only work. That was the deal he’d made. Four days of work, three days rest. He could help the community, work for them to thank them for their continuous hospitality. 

They had given him the perfect job. _Their _perfect job, which nobody wanted to do for a long time. Paul would rather be spending his time on other things, but he had already agreed to help and he was too self-conscious to back off.

Every Monday, they would bring him out of the gate, blindfolded. They didn’t want him to see what safety measures were taken to protect the camp from the inside or outside. They brought him to a wooded area nearby, where they’d hand him an axe and told him to start cutting away. they needed the firewood, after all.

And Paul started cutting. He made sure not to let a tree drop in the direction of the camp. He would not need any breaks, would always cut away at the same pace with the same strength - strength that came from the Hive, because Paul would never have imagined himself possessing the strength to fell several trees. And once a tree fell down, he could cut it in smaller pieces and return it to the edge of the base, a wooden structure haphazardly built, where a towing mechanism could transport the wooden pieces into the camp without having to go through the front gate again.

On good days, he cut down a small tree and sent all its pieces to the camp. On bad days, he’d just cut down the tree and nothing more. But a day was more than sunset to sundown for him, as it was for others. It was sunset to sunset with small breaks in between. He did not need sleep or felt any cold, so he could in theory continue this work for days and days on end; Paul could slave away and nothing would change, except his sanity might slowly slip away each time the axe made contact with the timber.

Each time he was outside of the camp, Paul was positively counting down the hours, minutes, seconds he still had to work. He looked forward to the moment they would take him back into the camp and he could relieve himself from the work.

He felt a soft tap on his shoulder. Paul turned his head and saw Jan standing there, the new lumberjacks having followed her. He looked up at the sky - when did sun start coming up? there was some more light, yes, but he should’ve noticed this change.

“Ready to go back inside?” Jan asked him. Paul nodded at her, a tired smile on his face.

“Gladly.” 

She handed him the familiar blindfold, and he tied it around his eyes. Now temporary blind, Jan placed his hand on her shoulder and guided him back inside the camp. Five minutes of carefully navigating the lumber site and walking by the border of the camp until they stopped and Paul heard the familiar grind of the door opening and they walked through it. 

He was allowed to take off the blindfold when he was back inside his tent. They tried to conceal where exactly the door to the outside world was located, but they only took measures when they brought him outside and sometimes forgot to do the same as he entered the base again. He had a vague idea about where the door was, but he tried not to think too much about it. The more he thought about it, the more the idea would solidify and his mind and the bigger the chance was this information might be sent to the Hive.

Paul handed the blindfold back to Jan and walked outside of his tent with her. As if on cue, Shay sprinted towards him. A smile immediately came to Paul’s face. She never failed to greet him whenever he came back from the lumber site. Even when two weeks ago she was having a cold and it was pouring, she still came to his tent to welcome him back after his extended shift.

“Paul!”

“Hi, Shay,” Paul said. Shay slowed down until she stood in front of him.

“May I hug you?” she asked him. 

Paul nodded. Shay almost jumped into his arms as they hugged. It was but brief, but it felt good. It technically felt like nothing, but it made Paul happy. Made him feel normal. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes. 

“Did you eat breakfast yet?” Paul asked her. 

“Not yet,” Shay admitted. Paul feigned disappointment and shook his head.

“Well, then we’re going to the breakfast tent,” Paul said. Together, they rambled to the breakfast tent, where everybody else was currently eating their food. “So, did anything interesting happen when I was outside?” Somehow, something always happened while he was chopping trees. All of the interesting stuff happened while he was not around.

“Josh and Arthur got into a fight,” Shay answered. Paul sighed. 

“What did Josh do now?”

Shay shrugged. “We don’t know. He won’t tell. But they have a lot of bruises all over their body.”

Whatever they had been up to, they’d been rough with one another. But as they arrived at the breakfast tent, Josh and Arthur were sitting close together at the same table, so it couldn’t have been that bad. Still, they weren’t talking much to one another and Lane sat between them, creating a perfect barrier between them.

Nobody glanced nervously as he walked into the tent. People turned their heads to look who had just entered, but it was nothing more than pure curiosity. Nobody was openly anxious or fearful of him and some of them even greeted him with a polite nod as their eyes met. 

Callie caught his attention by waving, and Paul immediately made his way to her. She has immensely warmed up to him. Every time Paul opened up to the base and anyone other than Shay a little more, Callie became more friendly towards him. He currently measured the trust the group gave him by the trust Callie would show him; it seemed to be a good though not infallible equivalent.

“Hi,” Callie said. “Good to have you back.”

“Good to be back,” Leighton said as he sat down at the table with her. He glanced aside; he noticed Shay sitting with her friends. He was looking for Leighton, seeing with whom he was sitting this morning, but Paul could not find him. He eventually turned to Callie again. “Is Leighton around?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s out on a supply run.”

“I just missed him?” Paul wondered.

“You just missed him.” Callie confirmed. “He left three days ago and he said not to expect him back until next week.”

Paul frowned. “That’s a long time.”

Callie nodded in confirmation, taking a bite from her apple. “He’s either going deeper into the city or going somewhere else.” She shrugged. “There aren’t a lot of resources in our immediate surroundings anymore.”

“So he’ll have to take longer supply runs,” Paul said. Of course all supplies from the immediate surroundings were depleted, if they had already been taken and consumed. It was probably time to found more smaller camps to spend the night. “You may have to start thinking about farming your own food soon.”

Callie shook her head. “We have tried. It’s not easy to start from scratch when none of us know how to do it.”

Oh. Paul had assumed someone in this camp must have been a farmer, or maybe Amish. Why he had assumed this, he himself did not even know, but this was his general assumption. Now that this turned out not to be true, he saw the necessity of the now constant supply runs to places further away from their camps. 

“True,” Paul conceded and watched her take another bite. He looked at it, but tried not to be too weird about it. Which he inevitably became. Yes, he could eat something, too, just to fit in, but he didn’t want to waste any of their resources. And still… what did it feel like? Was it hard or soft, sweet or a little sour? It was strange, contemplating what it was like to chew and swallow and needing to eat. He would be salivating if his body hadn’t been permanently paused by the Hive. How scary it was to become so used and familiar with his current state.

“At least there’s some good news,” Callie said, bringing Paul out his thoughts.“The scientists might have had a success.” 

“Really?” the previous thoughts promptly left his head. While this was good news, he couldn’t quite allow himself to be excited about it. A success might still me minor, about something he had no control over.

“They’re not sharing, but Clarke let it slip something positive happened in their lab,” Callie continued. “Clarke sometimes really can’t shut up. Some of us suspect they’ve been working on a cure for the infection.”

That was rather obvious. Why would Callie and other suspect this? Unless they weren’t actively kept in the know about the progress the scientists were making and what exactly they were working on. Information was dangerous, but why would this information be dangerous? Paul knew it was happening, after all, and the Hive had not retaliated against him or the camp for trying to find a cure.

“Okay,” he said.

The short response disappointed and annoyed Callie a little. She had expected a little more excitement from Paul, and a longer answer as well. 

“That’s all you have to say?” she said.

“That’s all I can think to say. I just…” Paul shrugged. “I don’t know.” The infection is only called an infection because nobody knows it was an alien from outer space - and those who do know have been infected as well. Paul had a vague idea of this being biology based and that it did act like an infection, a virus, but it was still alien. That the scientists wanted to create a cure seemed admirable and he gave them some samples to help them along, but he had not expected them to make such progress, especially in such a short time span. And how did they even create it with their limited equipment? Those scientists were definitely miracle workers. 

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I hope it’s more a cure than a repressing agent.”

And in his mind, the Hive laughed at him and his hopes. Whether it tried to discourage Paul with misinformation or the truth was unclear, but it projected the image of a cure not helping at all in the long run. To add some more misery, it broadcast images of infected people marching on New York, LA, Miami and Portland, groups varying from hundreds to thousands to millions, closing in some renegade survivors and taking their individuality, making them join the singularity.

But Paul shook his head once and the image in his head disappeared. He replaced it with a picture of Emma, smiling and laughing away the nonsense the Hive presented. This had become so easy since his weekly routine of chopping wood and relaxing afterwards. This had become so easy since more people than Callie, Shay and Leighton accepted him into the group and he didn’t need to worry they would point a gun at him.

This had become so easy since he’d become comfortable in the group. And honestly, at this point in time, it was more than he could have asked for.


	14. One out of three

The next time Paul was on his lumber break, he decided to take it more slowly. He wasn’t going to do anything that might stress him out when inside the camp. He shouldn’t think of the common questions pertaining to his status and infection anymore, but he should try to focus on the good. Focus on what may be better.

There may be a cure. It would take a while, but there would be one that he might take if it was 100% guaranteed that it would work. He had friends. Not acquaintances, as he would call everyone in his life but Bill, but _friends_. Shay and Callie and Leighton. Three real friends. Three people to keep fighting for. There was comfort; the comfort of a tent inside a base he started to call home. 

He had so much. Instead of worrying about when this all would go wrong and in what ways it could go wrong, he ought to think about what he had. Maybe that would be a nice change of pace from his usual anxious self. 

He was sitting outside of his tent, on a chair he’d put there. Sometimes, he just sat there and watched the people go through their daily routines. Today, he sat and enjoyed the first sunlight of the year breaking through the grey and white clouds. 

The familiar noise of the camp doors opening could be heard to where he sat. Paul obviously noticed this and stood up, approaching the gates and inching closer to a more central position. Around this time, according to Callie, Leighton would be returning. Though Paul didn’t see him yet, he was certain it was Leighton that would come in.

Leighton had returned with a large bag. Paul looked at it and wished it was filled with more canned vegetables and fruits, to replenish their shrinking supplies. Given the size of the bag, it was up to eighty percent filled, maybe more. Still, one large bag with food, which had to feed a minimum of fifty-three people, may not be enough. It would only give the people here a little more nutrition during their rationed meals. If Paul wasn’t mistaken, Leighton or someone else, or maybe multiple suppliers at once, should be going out again to find some more food until they could find a way to harvest their own.

Paul would have greeted Leighton, would have walked up to him to welcome him back. Another supplier raced past Paul and towards Leighton, taking over the bag to immediately transport it to the storage tent. At the same time this happened, a member of the camp leadership rushed past Paul as well and approached Leighton. They had a short conversation - Leighton probably asked what was going on - and then they turned to the right, walking in the direction of the scientists’ tent.

While this was going on, Paul stood still and frowned. Nothing like this had ever happened - if it was important, the leadership would have someone fetch Leighton instead of coming to him. And why would they go in the direction of the scientists when the leadership usually gathered on the other side of the camp.

“That’s weird,” Shay said.

Paul jumped and turned his head. Shay stood beside him, but Paul had not heard her come closer to him. She could really be silent if she wanted to. He’d seen her do this to Josh and others, but until today, she had not yet done it to him.

When he looked at her, he noticed she hadn’t intended to do it. She didn’t get into a laughing fit, but she did smile that she had succeeded in frightening Paul for even a little bit. 

“Yeah,” Paul responded. It was pretty weird indeed.

“Leighton doesn’t need to be escorted to the scientists,” Shay continued. 

“Unless something important was going on,” Paul commented. It had to be important when Leighton and a member of the leadership would have to work together or give clearance together. 

“Is there?” Shay wondered out loud, looking at Paul with questioning eyes.

And Paul knew at that moment he probably should’ve stayed quiet. It was suspected that something was going on, but that didn’t mean something was actually going on and the last thing he wanted to do was to give someone false hope for something that definitely wasn’t going on - even though something definitely was going on, but then it would be false hope for something different than was going on.

“Um…” He couldn’t find the words. Why could he never find the words when he was caught? And Shay didn’t even catch anything - or wouldn’t, if he wasn’t blundering at this moment. Why was he even blundering?

Shay’s face lit up. Paul sighed - he had failed and was glad he didn’t have to keep blundering.

“There is!” Shay exclaimed. “They’re developing a cure. It worked, didn’t it? Did they save the victims.”

How the hell did Shay know this? She must have overheard some of the adults speculating about it and must have seen it as something that was definitely happening. Why did kids have to be so innately curious?

“I, er…” Paul gulped and tried to keep his composure, to keep his calm. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re not?” Shay frowned. By now, she should know Paul wasn’t omniscient and could not look into everyone’s minds the same way the Hive invaded his mind from time to time to give him some depressing images to think about.

“I don’t know everything that’s going on around here,” Paul clarified for her. “I did catch some people say something positive was happening.”

“Something important enough to call Leighton,” Shay concluded and Paul nodded. It had to be. Leighton had to be involved in some way. Wasn’t he the one that brought one of the scientists, if not the infected, into the camp? If he did, it would make sense.

“But he doesn’t have any authority in that tent,” Paul said. 

Shay shrugged. “He has some. Maybe he’ll have to give a green light to someone cured entering our society!” The thought seemed to excite her. There was this glint in her eyes and she had the brightest smile on her face. There was no fear, no anxiety about any potential lucky souls that were cured relapsing or doing anything. It can’t be easy to come back to a semblance of society when you can only remember anything up until the moment of infection? Much had changed, how well would they adapt to their new and unfamiliar surroundings? How would they live?

“I’m going to get my uncle back,” Shay then randomly announced, almost jumping for joy now.

Paul frowned. “Your uncle?”

“He’s in there,” Shay said, pointing in the direction of the scientists’ tent. Paul glanced in its direction as well. She seemed to be incapable of wiping the grin off of her face now. “He sang. But he’s not singing anymore, I know it. I can feel it.” She took a step closer towards Paul. “Can you feel it?”

“Can I… maybe?” He was taken aback by this sudden question, resulting in this hesitant answer. Shay tilted her head and frowned.

“Maybe?”

Paul sighed. He figured what she was trying to get him to do. “I’ll try.”

Paul closed his eyes and focused. He had no idea how it worked, trying to purposely sense the infected in the scientists' tent. It wasn’t as easy as realizing you are breathing and blinking. It was a gut feeling, something authentic and hard to fake. What he could do was something he did not like to do or really knew how to do, which was to open up for the Hive to come back peeping in. Open the door at a crack, see what happens and slam it shut when things seem to go south. 

But nothing happened. If the Hive had taken advantage of the opportunity - if Paul was doing this right, anyway - it hadn’t shown himself or given him what he wanted. It always promised everyone to give them what they wanted, but when Paul halfheartedly wanted to sense the infected in the tent, it didn’t react. The Hive, a self-centered hypocrite.

After a couple of minutes of no reaction, Paul decided to give up and opened his eyes. If he wasn’t getting anything in those minutes, he wasn’t going to get it if he stayed focused. He looked at Shay and shrugged.

“I’m not getting anything.”

“So everyone is cured?” Shay asked him.

“Or everyone’s dead. Or the Hive is blocking their signals.” It was all possible. He didn’t really believe everyone in there would be cured. If anything, the Hive blocking Paul from sensing them wouldn’t be too far-fetched, though rather inefficient because Paul already knew they were in there - and therefore, the Hive should know that Paul knew. So, that left just the one most likely possibility. The most realistic one, the one that would crush Shay’s hopes.

“Oh.” Her smile subsided a little, but returned to her face. It wasn’t as wide as minutes before, but the joy was still on her face. She came closer and patted Paul on his arm. “It’s okay. You tried.”

She truly was optimistic. It was a great virtue during these dark times. Still, optimism in a child such as her may feed some naivete that would leave her disappointed.

“Shay…” He took a breath. “I would be cautious, if I were you.”

“Why?”

The dreaded follow-up question. Now, how did he explain his theory and present possible facts without making her despair or completely butchering the explanation while trying to make her understand? 

“The cure…” Paul took a deep breath._ Don’t stumble over your words._ “I don’t have a good feeling about it. It’s been, what, a couple of weeks? That can’t be enough to cure or flush an alien substance out of their bodies successfully. If one of them made it, that’s great, but I wouldn’t… It’s always possible that the scientists acted too early with some sort of experimental cure. It is possible that none of them made it.”

That statement immediately killed the mood. Shay’s grin permanently disappeared and Paul realized at that moment he probably should have tried to end his explanation with a positive sentiment.

“Maybe one of them made it. Maybe two, maybe all three of them. But in what state will they be? And if even one of them made it, it might not be your uncle.” 

That upset Shay even more; tears sprung in her eyes. He sighed - this is why he didn’t feel like having kids himself.

“I mean, if I was one of them, it would still be one chance out of three that I’d make it. Those odds are not in my favor.”

This did not comfort her, either. She did not need the hard facts thrown in her face with a decent example. She needed to be told everything would be okay, even though her uncle might not make it, someone else might. Why was that so hard to say?

“I mean…” No. You don’t mean. Stop it right there. You’ve already upset her enough.

He crouched down to be on her level and he looked at her. His eyes darted around and he hesitantly placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Shay sniffed and wiped some tears from her face. He’d crushed her hopes. 

“I’m sorry,” Paul said softly. “I am incredibly sorry, I didn’t mean to distress you. I’m not good at giving pep talks or anything like that. I just— you can hope, of course you can hope. But don’t get your hopes up too high, because I don’t want to see you heartbroken if your hopes don’t come true.” I don’t want to see those tears on your face again because of unmanaged high expectations. He squeezed her shoulder and nodded once. “I sincerely hope your uncle is okay.”

Through the tears and sniffs, a semblance of a smile broke through on her face. It lasted only a second, but it had been there and Paul had noticed.

“Thank you,” Shay said.

“You’re welcome,” Paul responded. “May I hug you?”

Shay did not respond. Instead, Shay launched herself into Paul’s body and almost knocked him over. Paul lay his arms awkwardly around her, holding her for however long it would take Shay to calm down and stop crying.


	15. Uncle Ted

Shay had calmed down enough for Paul to let go of her. Still, he held his hand on her shoulder.

“You okay?”

Shay nodded. This was good. Now Paul could stop feeling guilty about upsetting her.

“Good.” Paul let her go and stood up. He glanced at his tent and then looked back at the twelve-year-old. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to my tent.”

“I’ll stay here,” Shay said without hesitation. “I want to be here when the cured enter this plaza.”

Paul nodded. That was brave. He refrained from repeating his ideas from earlier - he already made her cry, he didn’t want to do the same thing twice.

“I guess I’ll hear it when it happens,” Paul said. The fabric of the tent was good for keeping in warmth, but it wasn’t as isolating as it could be and if anything tumultuous was happening outside, he would definitely hear it. Especially since Shay would practically be waiting right outside his tent. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

And Paul left Shay in the sun, going back into his tent to reflect on his speaking skills and how he can improve not upsetting people with his blunt honesty. He figured he was doing a good job being more careful in his phrasing, but he still couldn’t help it to not say the whole and complete truth as he experienced it. 

Inside the tent, time passed. Paul of course was not aware how much time did pass, but he did know he was getting bored and that he did not find any ways to be less blunt, because he did not know how to be less blunt. 

Paul lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He listened to the howling of the wind, that always calmed his mind during the day when his thoughts did not concern the Hive. If the Hive was involved, Emma could scare it away. But now, it was the sound of the wind that kpt his mind silent and steady.

“Shay?”

Paul froze. It was a new voice, one that he didn’t believe he had heard around the camp already. One out of three had made it. Better yet, the survivor had called out for Shay. Shay’s uncle had survived being infected. What are the odds? A smile came to Paul’s face - Shay got some family back.

“Uncle Ted!”

Paul immediately frowned. “Uncle Ted?”

He’d said it out loud. He didn’t care - did she just say ‘uncle Ted’?

No; no, it couldn’t be his Ted, Ted from Hatchetfield. Impossible. He was certain the Hive separated them, or else Paul would have remembered flashes of travelling with familiar people. This could not be Ted.

Paul stood and slowly walked to the tent flap. He pulled it away, only inches, and peeked through the created crack.

Hours ago, Paul had hugged Shay. But now, it indeed was Ted that was hugging her tightly, holding her as if for the very first time. For all Paul knew, it was the first time in very long that they hugged.

If Paul wasn’t infected, he was certain his face would have lost all color. He froze; he could not look away, could not step away from this rather awkward position. He id not want to intrude; he did not want this to be out of sight, either. He couldn’t believe it. It was Ted.

Couldn’t it have been Bill?

But it was Ted. He should be happy nonetheless. And he was.

Ted was less that ten yards away from him. 

“I’m so glad to see you,” Ted said. He pulled himself out of the hug and his eyes darted over her. He barely had a smile on his face and his eyes were wet, still getting over his initial shock at seeing his niece again. “How… how did you get out of Hatchetfield, you were—”

“We weren’t home,” Shay responded. Her voice broke. Ted briefly frowned.

“Y-You weren’t?”

“We were in Portland for my birthday. Staying at the Sheriton.”

Ted mouthed the answer and his smile became wider. He almost let out a laugh.

“That’s great. That’s so fu-,” he stopped himself before the ‘fuck’ left his mouth. “That’s great. Are your parents here, too?”

He glanced around, but somehow did not spot Paul watching on. When he did not see anyone that looked like Shay’s parents, he looked at his niece again. Shay shook her head and the smile faded from his face again. 

“They… they’re singing now.”

Ted nodded once, as an acknowledgement of her pain. Ted probably had only until recently expected them to be dead - until he saw Shay and realized her parents might have made it, too. But they haven’t.

“They’re singing.” Ted repeated, tasting the bitterness of the sentence. “Hey, I was singing just a couple days ago. They fixed me. If we can find them, I’m sure they’ll fix your parents, too.” He patted her on her chest twice, to comfort her. 

“They’d better,” Shay responded. This made Ted snicker. 

“They will,” Ted said. He turned his head to look around the camp more calmly. “Now, where—”

Ted’s eyes crossed Paul’s. 

“Paul!?”

Fuck. Now he could not pretend to listen in anymore. He pulled the tent flap further back and exited his tent, approaching his colleague. 

“Hi,” Paul said. The disbelief almost burst from Ted’s face; he had not expected Paul to be here. Or to be alive. Or maybe even both. Both was still possible. And during these moments of silence, Shay looked back and forth between the men who had just greeted one another and who seemed to know one another.

“You know Paul?” Shay asked. Ted nodded in disbelief and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah!” Ted exclaimed. “We worked at the same office. I can’t believe you made it out of Hatchetfield.” 

Paul shrugged. “Me neither.” But he did. Even if it wasn’t on his own accord, but he did. 

But if Ted was making this comment, he probably did not remember even a sliver of what the Hive can remember. He didn’t know what had happened to Paul.

“I haven’t seen you since…” Since you were infected when Emma and I weren’t looking, when you so foolishly ran away into the night, all alone.

Ted nodded, a grim expression on his face. He probably remembered it. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to tell Callie!” Shay said excitedly and she ran away. Ted followed her with his eyes, watching her leave. When she was out of earshot, he turned to Paul. 

“Who is Callie?” he asked.

“If I’m not mistaken, she’s a teacher from Portland,” Paul answered. “They’ve been inseparable since it started.”

Paul pulled the tent flap back and looked at Ted, silently inviting him to come inside. Ted didn’t need to be asked twice and walked into the tent, closely followed by Paul.

“That’s good,” Ted commented on what Paul had said. “At least Shay wasn’t alone.”

“She wasn’t,” Paul responded. He remained standing while Ted immediately sat down on Paul’s bed. He was slouching, leaning on his elbows resting on his knees. His gaze was distant and while shay distracted him before, she was now gone. He worried, but without her present, his eyes showed just how broken he seemed to be.

Worst of all, he was silent and unmoving. This was not normal. 

“How are you feeling?”

“What do you think!?” Ted spoke a little more loudly than was necessary and spread his arms as a reaction, crazy eyes staring at Paul, who took a step backwards.

“Okay,” Paul said. Ted shook his head and sighed. “Do you remember—”

“I told those science freaks I can’t remember anything,” Ted spoke quickly, to get it over with, but he had tempered his tone a little, though the disgust and discomfort still shone through. “And yeah, I can’t remember what it’s like. I remember up to me running away. I was alone, the military arrived. Put a bullet in my back. That pain…” A pained expression appeared across Ted’s face. “That fucking soldier pushed the blue shit down my throat.” He ran his finger from his chin to his chest and shuddered, as if he recalled the taste of the Hive. “Horrible.”

Paul had no words. He hadn’t seen it happen, Emma was still freeing him from an infected. He only saw Ted running away and later having joined the military in their war song. ‘Horrible’ couldn’t describe what he had gone through and for the first time in forever, Paul felt sorry for Ted, for the way he was infected. Bullet in the back, blue shit in the mouth. A shiver would’ve gone down Paul’s spine if he wasn’t infected.

“How about you?” Ted then said, clearly to change the subject. He looked at Paul with questioning and curious eyes. “You got on the helicopter, right? You escaped.”

Right. The helicopter.

Paul shrugged hesitantly. “I think so.”

Ted frowned. “You think so?”

“I don’t remember much of that period,” Paul admitted. “Just getting on the helicopter and… crashing.”

Things weren’t adding up for Ted, but Paul would unfortunately not be able to provide any answers. It would require Paul to understand what had happened to him, and he did not know.

“Then how did you get off the island?” Ted asked.

“I don’t know.” 

“And what about that barista?”

“I don’t know, Ted,” Paul said, placing emphasis on the verb in that sentence. “I don’t remember what happened after the crash. I know I survived it, but that’s it. After that, at least twenty-four hours are gone from my memory.” 

Twenty-four hours. It was way less than twenty-four hours. He knew he wore a seatbelt and got out with only bruises; Emma had her leg impaled. they tried to kiss; Paul left to the blow up the meteor. He stood in front of the Starlight Theater and then, nothing. That is where his memory failed him. He did not remember what happened to him at the meteor, much less after that.

How did he not realize up until now an important event was missing from his memory?

“That’s rough,” Ted said. Paul nodded.

“My mind must’ve blocked it out,” he said. “It probably was traumatic.” And if it was traumatic, what happened during the time he’d lost? What was so bad for him that his memories refused to keep it.

“I hope for your sake that your barista made it out and is… somewhere,” Ted said. Paul thanked him for it, though he knew Ted probably meant it more self-centeredly - if she was infected, Ted probably wouldn’t want to deal with a distraught Paul. Paul could not blame him for this.

It was also possible Ted would not mind if Paul got Emma back, just like he reunited with Shay. But right now, Paul believed Ted would lean more towards the first option. 

“How’s Shay doing?” Ted then asked.

“She’s doing fine. From what I can see, at least,” Paul said. “You should talk to Callie about that, she’ll know better than I do. I only met her when I came here.”

Ted nodded to himself. “Allright, I’ll talk to her.”

After saying this, he turned his head away from Paul and stared at a piece of cloth laying aside. He kept staring at it and did not move again. Paul did not want to disturb Ted again, but as he knew (like no other), the mind can be a dangerous place to be when you are in a difficult situation. The mind was not a place you would want to be without help, for it fueled dark thoughts and squandered any happy thoughts when you can’t see the light.

“Is something wrong?” Paul carefully asked. 

Ted lifted his head again and looked at Paul, unable to hide his sorrow and general unsteadiness in his eyes. 

“Why would something be wrong?” Ted retorted.

“You’ve got that look in your eyes,” Paul said. Ted did not respond, but he did look away again. Paul wasn’t going to give up that easily. “Ted?”

“Alright, I’ll talk,” Ted said with an irritated voice. “I’m fine, it’s just that hotel Shay mentioned, the Sheriton. I remember…” He huffed. “Well, I_ don’t_ remember, but there’ve been flashes. Moments. I’m walking through the city. I’m entering that hotel. I see Lisa and her boyfriend and…” He gulped and took a deep breath and a few moments. “And I close my hands around their throats and… and…”

He reached into the air, placing his hands around an invisible and nonexistent neck. His hands trembled, his breath was rigid. Paul could not look away from the hands. 

Ted balled his fists and brought them next to his body.

“No. No!” He exclaimed. He stood up from the bed and looked at Paul, desperate and sorrowful and angry. “Where’s the booze around here?”

Paul blinked. “What?” That was not the question he expected.

“You heard me,” Ted said. “Where can I get drunk around here?”

Paul shrugged - how was he supposed to know? “I don’t know. The food tent?”

Ted tilted his head. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I don’t drink anymore,” Paul said. No alcohol, no water, nothing. That was one of the advantages and disadvantages, of being infected. You didn’t need to drink anymore, and the alcohol would probably not work on him (though he hasn’t checked that yet). What did being thirsty feel like again.

Ted rolled his eyes. “Fucking Christ, Paul, the world is literally ending and you decide to stop drinking? You can do whatever the hell you want, but I do not agree with that choice.” Ted shook his head disappointedly. “Food tent, you said? I’ll go ask.”

He was about to walk out of the tent, to spook the people from the food tent. Paul could not let Ted go just yet. There was one more thing that he definitely needed to know. 

“Wait,” Paul said. “How well did it work?”

“Did what work?” Ted asked. 

“The cure. Was it—”

“Oh yeah, it was a real great,” Ted said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Not! While i was with those science psychos, they let that alien shit take me back at least twice.”

Paul froze. “What?”

He should’ve seen it coming. Ted was back, but it couldn’t have worked perfectly the first time around. It was scientifically impossible to get something right the first time, and if it did happen, they must have just gotten a large amount of luck from the universe.

“Yeah,” Ted said. “That cure didn’t work for shit. No, wait, it works, but ‘has to be reapplied every forty-eight hours’.” He must have quoted one of the scientists, using a silly voice to express his disdain for the process. “They’d better get working on something better, because I don’t want to get a shot every two days just to be me.”

When Paul did not immediately answer, Ted just left him to go look for the food tent. He probably didn’t know where it was. He’d either find Shay to show him or asked a random person. Paul didn’t even know whether these people had alcohol. If they did, they were expertly hiding it from Paul and would likely do the same with Ted.

So, a cure that would repress the effects of the infection. The alien substance wasn’t flushed out or killed and later expelled, but it was neutralized for long enough to let the host regain control. But just like certain aspirins work for a couple hours at a time, this cure lasted only two days.

Two days.

It was better than nothing. Paul hoped it was an incentive for the scientists to improve the cure to make it last longer, or to make it a permanent cure instead of a medicine. 

But that process might still take months.


	16. About the sceptic and the barista

Paul was taken out of his thoughts about an hour after Ted had started his quest to find alcohol by Leighton. He entered the tent and knocked on a piece of wood Paul had hung up to be alerted of any visitors so that they could knock.

“Paul? Can you come with me for a moment?” 

Paul sat upright and nodded.

“Okay.” He stood up and followed Leighton out of the tent. “What is it?”

The two men walked away from Paul’s tent and Paul soon noticed that they were aimlessly walking about. The conversation they had was to have an ambient, informal vibe. 

“The infected were given a cure,” Leighton explained. “One of them made it, the other two didn’t. They are still in the tent, but the third one is walking around.” He stopped and looked directly at Paul. “Just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

Paul nodded. “Yeah, I know about him.”

Leighton frowned - he had not seen this coming. “You do?”

“I’ve already seen him. We spoke to one another.”

“Really?” Leighton’s voice betrayed worry and interest, and Paul could guess Leighton was wondering how Ted reacted to Paul?

“Yeah,” Paul said. “I should probably mention that Ted and I used to work for the same company, back in Hatchetfield. We’ve known each other for a while.”

And Leighton remained silent for a while, mulling over the implications of Paul knowing Ted and how it possibly could help their camp.

“That’s interesting,” Leighton said. “Paul, could you tell me what he is like? We don’t want to run into any trouble.”

And Paul totally agreed with his concern about Ted. But at this moment as well as at any given time, Paul was the worst person to ask what someone else was like. And even though he really wanted to help, he really did not know Ted all that well to give an accurate representation of who he is.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not a people person,” Paul said, “I never was. I can count my friends on one hand and Ted… he’s more of an acquaintance than a friend or even someone I know well. He was just there and I tried to ignore him as much as possible.” As a co-worker, Ted was the absolute bane of Paul’s existence. Everything Ted did in the office distracted Paul so much, he had to purchase earbuds for the occasion when Ted was too loud.

“Can you try?” Leighton asked him and Paul sighed. Well, he could try, but he was aware that most of what he would say, would probably be negative to neutral.

“He’s loud,” Paul said, trying his best not to “He wants to be seen and especially heard. He’s a douche. Self-centered and a tad egotistical. A shithead we tolerated. Quite the—”

“We?” Leighton said, interrupting Paul’s train of thought. He blinked a couple of times as his mind tried to catch up with what Leighton wanted to know.

“Our group of co-workers,” Paul eventually said and then continued. “Ted is easily irritated and not afraid to show it. He’s abrasive and will argue with anyone.” That was all Paul could think of, and his silence signaled this to Leighton as well. He looked at Paul with a critical look, still processing all of the information that he had just received. But that did not take away from the fact that he was not yet satisfied and wanted some more details about Ted.

“Were you two trying to survive together in Hatchetfield?” Leighton wondered. “How is he in these circumstances, how does he cope?”

That was easier to describe since Paul actually actively witnessed this behavior before their infection and that was the behavior that was still fresh in his mind. Behavior would be easier to describe than Ted’s character.

“He’d rather save himself than helping out someone in danger. He’d rather drink until the morning than face any problems. He is not the kind of person that would grab a weapon and shoot when there are hordes of enemies, but he probably would when there is only a couple and when he knows he can kill them.”

In other and fewer words, Ted is a coward who can easily overcome his fear when he is in control of the situation and cares primarily for his own survival.

Leighton again seemed to like this information. He nodded along when Paul gave his explanation and now seemed more satisfied with what he heard. And still, there was one last thing he wanted to ask Paul, for a little perspective.

“Do you have anything positive to say about him?”

That would be hard, but Paul tried nonetheless; he chose his words carefully, talking more slowly to give himself more time to think of positive things to say as he spoke about Ted’s better sides.

“He cares. Sometimes.” Paul shrugged. “I don’t think he ever showed it in public, but he does care about people, especially when they are close to him. He is scared and tries to keep the brave face by being even louder than usual. And, if he really has to, he might put himself in the line of fire to save someone else.” But that isn’t very likely. “Again, I really don’t know him that well. For all I know, he’ll turn out completely different than I described him.”

And Leighton understood Paul’s situation enough to forgive him in case he ever painted an inaccurate picture of the newest member of their little survivor camp.

“I understand,” Leighton said. “Thanks for your help.”

Leighton was about to walk away, back to his own tent, but Paul stopped him.

“Can I add one more thing?” He asked. One more thing had come to mind about Ted, one more thing that might make a difference in the future. So Leighton turned to Paul again and patiently waited for the answer.

“Fire away,” Leighton said.

“About Ted…” Paul started - how should he say this. “I would also call him unpredictable. I never really know what he’s going to do and say next and I’m afraid that… It’s not going to be any different here. If he knew that I’m still infected—”

“You didn’t tell him?” Leighton interrupted him.

Paul shook his head. “I didn’t. I don’t want to. I’m afraid of his reaction.” All those unpredictable variables - his general grumpiness, how well he adapts to the situation, his stance towards the infected even with the existence of a cure - made Paul fear for his life. He would put Ted with a gun higher on the list of threats to his life than Martin with his rifle. He feared Ted more than Martin because he knew for sure that once Ted had made up his mind, he would not hesitate to take that gun and shoot. He feared not even Shay could stop him from pulling the hypothetical trigger.

“You really don’t want him to know,” Leighton said.

“I really don't,” Paul confirmed. “Could you tell everyone not to tell him that I’m infected?” He would do it himself, but Leighton knew these people better than Paul and they may not like it when Paul would approach them with the same request.

A smile appeared on Leighton’s face. “Don’t worry about it, Paul. By this evening, everyone will be notified.”

Paul nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

And so their ways parted. Leighton either went to his tent or would go around to tell everyone not to say to the new guy that Paul is infected. Paul decided not to go to his tent immediately, but instead, he went to the food tent. There always was someone in there and he needed to verify whether anyone had already told Ted, so Paul may prepare for the possible worst.

Damn, just the thought of Ted finding out made him an anxious mess. 

On his way to the food tent, he came across Callie and Shay, who just exited this tent and met him outside. 

“There you are,” Shay said. She must have been hoping that Paul would join them at some point.

“Hi again,” Paul said. He then turned to Callie, to talk to her. “Have you met—”

“Yes, I have,” Callie said. The sigh that followed it as well as the annoyed look in her eyes gave a pretty clear picture of her thoughts on Ted. “How did you manage to keep up with him?”

“I didn’t, I ignored him,” Paul replied. He briefly wondered why and how Callie knew that Paul and Ted knew each other for longer than a couple of minutes, but Shay probably told her that Paul and ‘uncle Ted’ - that still felt weird - were friends. Shay would totally misunderstand their connection for something more than their casual acquaintanceship. 

“That’s not easy in situations like these,” Callie said. They were going to live together within the same relatively small space; they would not be able to ignore him, to not see him for a set amount of time. He was always going to be around, always going to be close.

“Where is he now?” Paul asked her. He hadn’t stumbled out of the tent, Paul hadn’t heard him inside of the tent at all. Was Ted even still inside? Had he found some secret alcohol stash?

“He’s asleep somewhere in there,” Callie said. “He was very tired, fell fast asleep.”

And now Paul was wondering what Ted had done that day to be tired enough to fall right asleep. Had the search really been that taxing on him?

“Why didn’t you tell us about that coffee girl?” Shay interjected, a questioning look on her face.

Paul blinked. “What?”

That was not something he’d expected to hear. As far as he was aware, Shay knew that Emma existed and that Paul cared for her, but he never really went into much detail about it. Not to deny shay this information, but to spare himself the memories. 

“Ted told us what happened in Hatchetfield,” Shay explained. “He told us about the barista that stuck with you and your colleagues. The way Ted described it, you liked her.”

“Is that all he said?” Paul asked her. He can’t have just stayed with the surface level information as Shay had described it. Knowing him, he would’ve gone into every detail if it meant entertaining Shay and taking a piss at Paul.

“No, it wasn’t,” Shay said, shaking her head. A mischievous smile appeared on her face. 

Paul nodded. “I figured.”

“Who was she? What was she like?” Shay asked. When Paul did not immediately answer, she asked a follow-up question. “Can you please tell me about her?”

Callie had looked at Shay and now watched Paul, too, arms folded. “Now I’m curious, too.”

And Paul did not want to deny them this information.

“Her name is Emma.” Her name only just left her mouth and Shay’s eyes lit up in recognition. Paul confirmed it before Shay could interrupt him. “Yes, that Emma. And she’s not your run-off-the-mill barista. She traveled far and wide, even going as far as Central-America. She has loads of life experience and only works as a barista to pay for student loans. When she’s finished, she’s going to start a pot farm.” 

An impossible mental image warmed his heart and made him pause for a moment. He pictured Emma under the nice Colorado sun, walking among rows and rows of cannabis, smiling widely and nodding to herself. She’d made it, and she had her farm. And Paul, well, he’s watching from afar, coming to visit her from Hatchetfield. An impossible image, especially in these circumstances, but beautiful nonetheless. The thought made a smile briefly appear on his face.

And then it disappeared, as his mind (the Hive?) reminded him of the bad that made this image impossible. “And then, the infection spread. We tried to leave Hatchetfield via helicopter after Ted became infected, but it crashed before we could fly away. There was, er…” He measured out a length with his hands and got questioning looks from both Callie and Shay. He hesitated. He couldn’t really re-enact exactly how long the piece of metal was, but did it really matter to this story? “Some iron rod pierced through her leg. She couldn’t stand, let alone walk. I had to leave her behind because I had to destroy the meteor.” 

“What meteor?” Callie asked.

Didn’t she know about the meteor? Ted probably should have mentioned it. Then again, it was possible he had not really been paying attention when Hidgens was speaking or he was too inebriated to do so. Or he simply may not have linked the meteor crashing to the alien infection. Sometimes, these things went over his head. At least, Paul thought so.

“A meteor landed in Hatchetfield the night the infection spread,” Paul said. He didn’t bother telling them it was blue alien shit since Ted either mentioned it or didn’t, and Paul didn’t want to spook them by saying them it’s not an infection, but intelligent invasive alien life. “The infection originated from the meteor. We believed the problem would go away if we destroyed the meteor.”

If that indeed was the metaphorical head of the infection. If not, in hindsight, it wouldn’t have done much but destroy the entity - or maybe even ship? - that brought the blue shit to Earth.

“Did you destroy it?” Shay wondered out loud. She was entirely captivated by his story, and she would be disappointed in a very short time.

Paul shrugged. “That’s the thing, I don’t know. I remember going to its location, but I can’t remember going inside, standing in front of it or even destroying it. That is when I must have been infected.” He still did not remember how it happened; did he accidentally blow himself up? Was he ambushed and given mercy in the form of a quick kill? But the Hive seemed to take a particular interest, so it wouldn’t have given him that mercy. 

“But Emma…” Paul shook his head, his mind flooded with guilty thoughts he had thought before. They never came crashing in like this before, though. “I left her behind. I left her, without any means of defending herself. She couldn’t get away, even if she’d want to. She was alone, no-one else survived. I left her.”

_But she’s capable of defending herself,_ one side of his mind thought. The rational side quickly shut this up, claiming it would not have worked in her state.

“For a good cause,” Callie said. “To destroy that meteor.”

“Maybe she made it out,” Shay said. 

Paul shook his head again. “I don’t think she did.” She couldn’t have made it out of Hatchetfield on her own. Not without help. Maybe P.E.I.P. had helped her out after coming in with a different helicopter, tracking the one that Emma’s colleague had crashed. That was how she could have made it out.

Could. Maybe P.E.I.P. did not respond to it for fear that it was a trap. They had probably taken many precautions for this particular situation.

“But we can hope,” Shay then responded. “I hope she’s out there, saving people.”

“Maybe,” Paul said.

“She is,” Shay said with the utmost conviction. She either thoroughly believed that Emma was out there kicking ass and avoiding the infected, or she was really good at faking it. Paul wanted to believe that she said it to make him feel better, but he did recognize that she was probably not doing it for him.

“Thank you,” Paul said. Shay and Callie always found the best ways to make him feel better. “I’m going to look for Ted now.”

And Paul also told Callie and Shay that he’d rather not tell Ted that he’s infected just yet, fearing for Ted’s unpredictable reaction to the news. Now having interacted with Ted, Callie as well as Shay promised not to tell him. Paul was relieved that they hadn’t mentioned this to Ted. 


	17. Working boys

Ted fucking hated his life.

What exactly was bothering him? Everything. There was not a single thing in this camp that wasn’t shit.

For starters, his forty-eight-hour shot. Even after a week of being awake, they hadn’t seemingly made any progress about a medicine that could keep the ‘infection’ - they called it an infection, he knew it was blue shit - at bay for more than two days. And hey, while he realistically knew they couldn’t just create a new cure that lasted longer, it still bugged him as hell that they didn’t create it faster. And that Hoover lady always jammed in the needle a little too much. It was more effective than a vaporized cure cloud, but it hurt a lot afterward.

Other than that, there were other things in the camp that bugged him. They did not allow him to leave the grounds, they wouldn’t even show him where the gate was! There was very little alcohol and he was not allowed to touch it. Paul was particularly distant - and he always had been, so that wasn’t weird - but he avoided Ted whenever possible and always seemed to act strangely anxious whenever Ted was around. Really, what was up with that guy? He wasn’t still moping about losing that barista, was he?

Shay wasn’t much of a help. She did help him tremendously by telling him how things worked in this camp, but she refused to tell him why Paul was so anxious. Her near-personal nanny, Callie, wasn’t willing to talk about it either. This frustrated him to no end. Couldn’t they just give him some fucking answers?

“Hi, Ted.”

Ted nearly jumped up; that guy who cleared his release from the scientists just walked by, greeting him randomly.

“Hi,” Ted replied. What was that guy’s name again? Leighton?

A melody floated in his mind - it wasn’t Hive related, but more of a personal memory from one of the last moments before his own infection. It was a familiar tune, from a musical written by Hidgens \- a musical about his college life, with his friends, and Leighton’s name was mentioned in the song.

Could this Leighton be that Leighton?

No. It couldn’t be. That would be too coincidental.

But that didn’t stop Ted from asking it, anyway.

“Hey!” Ted called after the senior gatherer-supplier. He found his footing again and ran up to him, to close the distance “Leighton, was it, right?”

“Right,” Leighton responded hesitantly. He started at Ted suspiciously - normally, Ted grumbled and didn't want to make contact beyond the usual greeting. “Is there something wrong?”

Ted shook his head. “No, no, not at all.” He remains silent for a little while before he realized this wasn’t the case. “Well, yes, a lot is wrong, but that’s not what I wanted to ask about.”

“Okay,” Leighton said. He did not trust the possible subject and he wasn’t feeling like getting involved in one of Ted’s already quote infamous rants. But still, you never knew whether Ted was ready to learn something, so he braced himself for what might come.

“This may sound very random and strange,” Ted said, “but I just gotta ask, I gotta know… do you know a guy named Henry Hidgens?”

Leighton did not react for a couple of seconds. Then, he blinked once and tilted his head, a curious look on his eyes.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked. Ted could not read his face at all. That was a bummer.

“Because you… Because Hidgens...” Ted took a deep breath. This was not going to be hard to say without Leighton looking at him like he was crazy, if he did not know Henry Hidgens. “This is gonna sound crazy.”

“I’m certain I’ve dealt with worse,” Leighton said in a monotone. Ted nodded - compared to what he was gonna say, he probably seen worse. Though he probably had not heard a little weirder.

“Okay,” Ted said. This is it; here we go. “So, we met him. Well, we took shelter with him. He’s written a musical about him and his college friends. One of those names was Leighton.” Was this necessary? So long as Leighton did not identify itself, it was. “Do you know Hidgens? Are you that Leighton?”

Leighton might have tried to hide his initial reaction, but he could not hide his reaction after hearing all the contextual information.

Leighton shook his head and frowned.

“Son of a bitch.”

That was all Ted needed to hear. His eyes lit up and a Brighton smile appeared on his face.

“You _are_ that Leighton.”

Leighton did not hear him. He was looking away and thinking to himself. What was going on in his head?

“Shit,” he eventually said and turned to Ted again. “A musical?”

“Yeah,” Ted exclaimed enthusiastically. “He called it ‘Working boys: a new musical’. It’s quite catchy.”

A flash of recognition came across Leighton’s face, though it barely cleared up the frown. This did not go unnoticed.

“What?”

“You and the others often sang what I presume was one of that musical’s songs,” Leighton explained. “The working boys, up to their ass in shit.” He refused to sing it - both because he did not want to sing in these circumstances, and because he did not want to give Ted the pleasure of hearing that melody again when it was badly sung. But the words were enough for Ted to recognize it.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” he grinned. When he realized that Leighton was not as happy or excited with the situation as Leighton was - Leighton only frowned or stared ahead -, it soon faded away. “You don’t like it.”

“Not just that, I strongly disagree with that musical as a concept,” Leighton said. “How much has he told you about us?”

It was not the words, but the calm tone of voice that Ted did not like. He did not know Leighton - how much he wished he did, though - and this was the first time he was confronted with something familiar in a long time. There was no telling how Leighton would react.

“Nothing,” Ted said truthfully. “From what I heard, he just used the names of everyone in the house at the edge of college campus. We don’t know which college campus, though,” Ted added, in the hopes of not angering Leighton too much.

Leighton shook his head. 

“That is a serious breach of privacy,” Leighton said with an annoyed voice. “Using our actual names and lives…” Leighton shrugged. “Why am I even surprised? Henry’s always had a problem with personal boundaries.” 

The way Leighton talked about Hidgens made Ted think that Leighton did not have good memories of Hidgens. Or that he did not really like the professor at all. And then, Ted connected the dots.

“Wait, you’re… you’re not one of his best friends?”

The way Hidgens had portrayed their relationships, Ted believed them to be best friends that hung out every hour of the day that they didn’t have to study or do other shit for school. But the look on Leighton’s face said more than enough, and Ted’s hopes were crushed with one irritated glance from Leighton.

“I believe the word ‘acquaintance’ fits our relationship better,” Leighton said. When he saw Ted’s disappointed look, he continued. “Look, I don’t know what your college experience was or if you’ve even had one, but it’s not guaranteed that you will be friends or even best friends with the people you live with. Yeah, Greg and Stu were his friends and the rest of us didn’t mind if Henry sometimes tagged along, but I wouldn’t have invited him to parties or wouldn’t have accepted his requests. Not every time he asked, anyway.”

Ted had a college experience, though it was not spent in a campus dorm with roommates from all over. When thinking of the Hidgens and his college friends, he must have pictured a fraternity-type situation, in which the boys had grouped together by choice for a common goal. Hearing it was a more normal situation and that not everyone got along well with everyone else was hard; Ted had not kept in mind that Hidgens was just as much of a freak and weirdo as a young man going to college, and that making friends with his roommates was going to be a much harder task than if he were a little more conventional.

“Henry did think of me as a best friend,” Leighton continued after a while. “I don’t know where he got that impression, though. Maybe he really was just that lonely before he met us.” 

An uncomfortable silence fell; neither one of them knew what to say in this situation. Leighton was taken back to the past while Ted could only speculate on what that past was like, based on the little glimpses that Ted was granted into that past.

Eventually, Leighton did turn his head to Ted again, a melancholic yet curious look on his face. “Did he die?”

Ted nodded. “He… he opened the gate of his house as he sang that song.”

Leighton at first didn’t react, but then he nodded once as well. “Yeah, sounds like Henry.”

And Ted saw another chance. Now that Leighton was asking about Hidgens, he may want to say more stuff about the other people that lived in the college house. Maybe that would satiate Ted’s hunger for knowledge about what was probably the happiest time in Hidgens’ life.

“Do you know of anyone else—”

“You are not entitled to our lives or our friendships,” Leighton said with a strict tone of voice. Immediately, Ted knew he had crossed a line he probably shouldn’t have. “I can tell you I‘ve kept contact with Mark, but he was in New York when the infection spread and I was here. He’s probably infected by this point or hiding out as well. I wouldn’t know, because phone lines are down..” He glared at Ted. “Is that all?”

Ted was taken aback by the sudden change of tone and was shut up by it, even after Leighton was done talking. He could only nod. “Yes, yes, that was all,” he said.

Leighton nodded once. “Good. Have a good day, Ted.”

And Leighton marched away to ensure that he would not have to continue to talk to Ted anymore, and Ted was left behind with more questions than answers and no motivation to enquire any further about it, lest he incurred the wrath of Leighton.

But he had answers. And that was the point of him coming up to Leighton.

And he at least forgot about all the shit of the camp for even just a little while.


	18. Spring comes

February was well underway. The winter, while cold, seemed not to last as long as the winter they had experienced last year. With a shorter winter, came the spring and an abundance of new life and new challenges. 

Callie was up early to watch the sunrise. It would rise earlier and earlier each day until the summer began. She smiled - she predicted the sun would brighten everyone’s moods and the general warmth would make everyone more comfortable if the weather didn’t become too hot. No more depressing browns and dark greens and gray skies, no more silence. The forest in which they had taken refuge would be revived by the sun’s rays, it would be green again. Life would return, giving them more opportunities to hunt and forage. 

She had the hope the coming year would be good. Not great or spectacular, but just good. And for now, just good was all they really needed.

The sun barely peeked over the trees when Leighton walked her way. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept last night. Which would be disadvantageous, since he was supposed to leave again soon. Very soon; in about an hour, or maybe even half an hour. 

“Hey, Callie,” he said, a weary smile on his face. Callie smiled back.

“Hi,” she said. “shouldn’t you be leaving soon?”

“Yeah.” e scratched his head. “I’d rather stay with you before I go.”

“What’s wrong?”

Leighton looked at her confused, but he quickly dismissed this as her recognizing he needed someone to talk to. Maybe he vented too much around her, but she was the only one he could trust to listen to the entire thing instead of absent-mindedly listening and sometimes interjecting with ‘uh-huh’ and ‘I hear you’. 

“Something’s gotta get off of my chest,” Leighton explained. “I don’t care that you’re not supposed to know, but hey, it’s not like I’ll give you compromising details or anything else you might tell someone else.” Callie tilted her head and he realized that he was calling her a snitch and that he accused her of sharing compromising secrets in the same breath. Callie did not appreciate this.

“Sorry about that.”

“Better start talking before that stress catches up with you,” Callie said. If she forgave him, she did not verbalize this; her acceptance of his unwarranted insult was allowing him to speak and to vent. 

He came to stand next to her. Both looked at the trees at the other side of the camp, through which the sun slowly crept upwards.

“The Hive’s moving closer to our position,” Leighton said softly. 

Callie frowned. “The what?”

“The Hive. That was Paul calls the collective of infected people.”He trusted Paul’s word on this subject. He was the only one who knew as much about it from first-hand experience. And it was a good name for the phenomenon. “Reports from other camps have indicated large groups of infected going west.”

And what could be more to the west than their camp in Portland, Oregon? If their own reports were correct (and they shouldn’t be in this case), there was no camp even more to the west than theirs in the United States this high up. 

“My god.” Callie’s face paled at the implications. Doomsday thoughts sprung up, none of them pretty. “Have they found us?”

Leighton shook his head.

“No, they haven’t, fortunately, but they _are _coming our way. Right when we wanted to spend more time outside to find some natural food sources.”

Of course. They had no idea how quickly this Hive could travel, but they did not that if it let the infected run non-stop, they could quickly cross the country to reach the west. Either way, it was unsure when they would arrive in their area. And when they did, it would be best if they didn’t know that anyone was still living around these parts. And to safeguard this, it was best nobody was out and about gathering resources.

“Can’t you do it now?” Callie wondered. “I mean, some life has already returned.”

“A couple of leaves on some trees doesn’t indicate there’s a berry bush out there that’s completely full,” Leighton said. Whereas Callie hoped this was enough, Leighton knew it couldn’t be enough. He knew the surroundings of the camp well; there was nothing ripe enough yet. Not enough wildlife had returned yet and efforts to catch what little there was hadn’t ended well yet. 

“Their arrival will make things harder. Instead of doing our best in the future, we’ll need to get out now and find those spots.” Leighton shook his head. “Some of them have never even seen a blueberry bush. And still, they’re supposed to identify them on sight when it’s not fully recovered from the winter yet.”

Callie placed a hand on Leighton’s shoulder. “They’ll do it. They’ll have to.” 

“Or they’ll find something poisonous and it kills us all,” Leighton said. But he looked at Callie and placed his hand upon hers. “I’m glad at least one of still has hope.”

Callie smiled at him again. She was glad to be the one to give him the hope he needed to continue on. It was not easy what he did, and the journey for supplies became longer with each passing day. It was not easy to keep hope when you kept stumbling upon empty closets and empty cupboards in abandoned homes they must have rummaged multiple times for every piece they had already brought to their camp or discarded as useless. It was hard to keep hope when everything useful was gone and nothing could serve them.

“Anything else you want to vent about?” Callie offered. The morning was young, the journey long; if he needed to get something else off of his chest, now was the perfect time for him to wipe his slate clean before leaving the camp. 

Leighton didn’t react at first, but then he nodded once.

“Hoover.”

Callie rolled her eyes. Something was always up with the scientists. “What has she done now?”

“She’s made progress,” Leighton said.

Callie blinked a couple of seconds. Had she not imagined he said those words? “That was not where I thought it was going.”

Leighton nodded again. 

“Yeah, she surprised me too,” he said. “Apparently, she’s gotten Jameson and Clarke to cooperate with one another. It seems they’re working on that cure.”

“That’s great.” But there had to be something else. Callie couldn’t believe that nothing else was going on; Leighton generally didn’t talk about the scientists if they were doing something positive, when everything was going smoothly.

“But there’s one thing,” Leighton said_. I knew it. _“They want to keep Ted for observation. For at least a week.”

Well, that was not something Callie could see happen in the foreseeable future.

“One week?” She wondered out loud, and Leighton nodded to confirm that she hadn’t heard this wrong. She shook her head. “That guy won’t even last one hour.”

“They say it’s necessary,” Leighton said as he shrugged. He would go along with everything that the scientists did, but not when it came to human experimenting. At least this would confirm that Ted would not be used for actual experimenting. Still, their main research concerned the development of a better or longer-lasting version of the cure, so they may indeed see Ted as the test subject. 

“That poor man will go insane,” Callie said.

“At least he’ll be going insane when we’re not around,” Leighton said. “And with a bit of luck, there’ll be good results that make him a little less insufferable.”

It would be better if Ted was a little less grumpy. His moodiness had quite an impact on the survivors, who believed he should show how grateful he was more often by trying to integrate into the camp instead of constantly segregating himself and only allowing himself to trust Shay and Paul and Leighton and Callie. He did not even trust the people that gave him his humanity back; it did not leave a good impression.

“Do you trust him?”

“Not even a little bit,” Leighton responded. He paused and looked at Callie, who was looking at him expectantly, waiting for elaboration. “I just don’t trust whiners in general, but he takes it to a whole new level.”

Good; at least they were on the same page when it came to the newest member of their society.

And then an unconventional idea popped into her head. “Why don’t you take him out on your supply runs?”

Leighton frowned. “Really?” He had not seen that coming. Also, he wouldn’t like to have Ted accompany him on such an important part of their survival. Just imagine it - Ted as a supplier, Ted running around with a bag that contained their supplies. Leighton already pictured him leaving the supplies to save himself.

“Let him work for the food he’s consuming, for the appliances he uses,” Callie continued. “Who knows, when he knows how hard it is to come by, he’ll turn it down a notch.”

“I surely hope so.” It was an interesting idea, to say the least. He would have to think it over for a long time, weighing all the pros and cons while trying to stay as objective as possible.

“Are you doubting him?” Callie wondered.

“Yes, I do,” Leighton said. He was certain that Callie and everyone in the camp did, too. Well, for the exception of Shay. “But it’s a good idea. Not for now, at least, but one day. When he can go longer without the cure.” Which is not something he saw happen in the foreseeable future.

The sun had risen higher, now shining in their faces. They had to turn away as not to look directly at her. Leighton and Callie looked at one another and smiled lovingly at one another. 

“Thanks for the idea,” Leighton said.

“You’re welcome.” Callie leaned in close and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Go on, they’re waiting for you.”

Leighton nodded once again, his gaze lingering on her face. 

“See you in a week,” he said and he walked away from her. He turned his head to her once more before heading to the supply tent, leaving Callie to watch the sunrise.


	19. Two weeks

There wasn’t much to say about the weather. Yes, the sun shone. Paul supposed that meant it was getting warmer. Patches of green appeared over the camp and around. It was safe to say it was starting to go into spring.

Except for the sun and the green, Paul did not really notice anything did change. Temperature was as it had always been for him, life would go on and he would only know if he opened his eyes to see, because he didn’t experience it anymore.

He truly didn’t need to experience it anymore. Yes, there were moments where he missed feeling the warmth or cold on his skin, where he missed being able to fall asleep and to feel hunger. But then there was habit and getting used to things. After spending two, three, almost four months in this half-infected state, you get used to it. Things that once seemed evident now were a luxury and weirdly strange to him. The feeling of hunger, of sleep, of warmth and cold were no longer on his mind and he barely remembered what it felt like. He only breathed because it was something he hadn’t stopped doing yet. It was the one thing he didn’t want to stop - so long as he breathed, he was human. So long as he breathed, he could tell himself he belonged.

Others would tell him he belonged. Shay definitely would and with Josh’s support, she could get the other kids to rally behind him, too. Callie supported him. Leighton and the suppliers liked him. The scientists tolerated him, but since they weren’t much in contact with him, their opinion didn’t matter. The other people in the camp had accepted him as one of their own and if there ever was any unrest, it was settled. The camp was calm. 

But there was someone that disrupted the peace. And this someone was sent to the scientists’ tent two weeks ago and only then left that place again. 

And this someone was walking right up to Paul. 

“Paul!” Ted called out. 

The two weeks without Ted were heavenly. Mostly because Ted was not a pleasant person to be around when he was grumpy, and he had only been grumpy since he was cured.

“Ted,” Paul said loud enough for Ted to hear, to confirm that he had heard his old friend. 

“Finally!” Ted exclaimed. Not at Paul, but at nobody in particular. He was just very glad about something, and Paul had no idea what that something was.

“Where have you been?” As soon as those words escaped his mouth, he realized where Ted has been. “Wait, have you—”

“Yeah!” Ted replied loudly. It seemed he tried to make his presence known by being even louder than usual. “Two weeks!”

“Why?” Paul wondered out loud. “You were supposed to be there for one week.” If he wasn’t misremembering this, at least. He believed it was supposed to be one week, but if it were five days, he could honestly say he did not remember.

“Yes, I was,” Ted continued, “but here’s the thing, they first waited until I was almost singing again. They then gave me this new experimental cure and kept me for observation.” Ted shook his head and Paul could easily imagine Ted sitting in a cage, occupying the same couple square meters for two weeks on end, with only the scientists to keep him company. No wonder he was so glad to finally have left that space. 

Ted shrugged. “They didn’t really care for me, but they did want to see how long I lasted before I’d revert back to singing. With no regard for my well-being.”

“So they’ve figured out a way to make the cure last longer,” Paul concluded from Ted’s ranting. Ted nodded his head.

“Yeah, but they still should’ve just let me go. They could always have observed me out here instead of in a cage.”

Paul shook his head, a hesitant look in his eyes. “I don’t know, Ted. I don’t think they wanted to take the risk.”

Ted did not like this comment. “They should’ve!” he exclaimed. “I can last a week and a half now. It’s still not long enough, but they’re finally getting somewhere.”

“That’s good news,” Paul said. At least the scientists were doing their jobs. The way they worked, the speed by which they produced results… they never ceased to amaze Paul. What were they on, what did they use to produce these results so quickly?

“So long as it limits the amount of shots I’m getting in a year, I’m all in,” Ted said. “At least they’re now producing this thing in large quantities.”

Paul frowned. “They’re what?” 

Ted nodded with a knowing grin, as if he tried to communicate the phrase ‘I know, right’ without words. “They gotta pass the time somehow, and they do so by making more of the cure. I probably won’t have to worry until next year, they said.” Ted paused a little, either to give Paul’s brain a chance to catch up and to think about what else he was going to say. “They’d better figure out how to make the effects permanent, but they at least make a bunch before they can focus on that.”

“They’ll find a way,” Paul said, still reeling by the revelation. Again, he was wondering how quickly these scientists were doing their work, whether they had any help from anyone and if anything was to difficult for them to handle. 

“Probably,” Ted said. 

For a single moment, it seemed like Ted was done talking, that Paul could say goodbye and leave. But then, he had to open his mouth again and say something trivial that kept Paul closeby for a conversation he might have longed for the past two weeks.

“Oh, they also made a theory.” 

Paul sighed. Did he really want to know?

“What is it?” Apparently, he did want to know. And Ted delivered. 

“You know, I wasn’t really paying attention and they used a couple of difficult words, but I think they were trying to say that the cure works on someone who didn’t die when they became infected.” 

This was another thing that hit Paul like a speeding bus. He blinked a couple of times and had a hard time focusing on Ted’s words, to continue listening without slipping back into his mind and trying to make sense of what Ted was telling him; and whether this was the truth or just a glorified speculation. In the meantime, Ted just talked without noticing Paul’s situation. “I mean, I don’t know whether that actually applies because they only had three people to test their cure on and two of them died and I happened to live. They don’t know whether the others died. Well, one of them had a big hole in his stomach so he was definitely dead, but the other one is very unclear.”

Ted looked to his side and saw Paul was just staring off, caught in his own thoughts and not paying attention to the words he said. 

“Paul?” That did not get a reaction out of him. He snapped his fingers in front of Paul’s eyes and successfully snapped Paul out of it. “Paul! Were you daydreaming?”

Paul shook his head. “No.”Ted placed his hands on his sides and raised an eyebrow. Paul glanced at Ted and then nodded. “Yes.” 

Ted’s shoulders and facial expression dropped. Now there was nothing but disappointment and annoyance on his face, and he groaned out loud. 

“What’s the point of rambling when you’re not even listening to me?” Ted said. 

“I’m sorry, Ted, but I’ve…” What could he say? I’ve been thinking about saving my own hide? “I’ve had a bad night.”

Ted looked at Paul as if he couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“You had a bad night?” Ted said. “I had eleven!” 

Paul shook his head again. He needed some space, some time, away from Ted and his nagging. He needed to think about this now, or else it would consume him for the next however-long-it-was-going-to-take.

“I’m not in the right mood right now,” Paul said honestly. “Try again next time. Go talk to Shay if you want someone to fully listen to you.”

Then, he just turned around and walked away. 

“Paul!” Ted called after him. “Hey! Paul!” 

But Paul did not listen. He walked to his tent without looking back and sat down on his bed before he tried to collect his thoughts. 

What the hell was that?

Out of everything today could bring, this was not something he had expected to find out.

He didn’t even know what to think of it. Had Ted misheard the scientists? Had he relayed factual information to Paul? And if it was true, what did it mean for him?

Okay. Okay, okay.

So. What if Ted has it wrong? What if being alive or dead at the time of the infection did not matter at all? Then he should dispel these thoughts from his mind. Nothing to worry about. He should carry on with his day. 

But what if it was true? What if there was a correlation with the cure working and being dead or alive when infected? Then it meant that Ted, who wasn’t dead, had been cured. The other men in custody might have been dead, but nobody knows, and if they were, they died because of a lack of consciousness or brain activity to take right back over when the alien shit was dispelled.

But how the other two guys were infected wasn’t confirmed. Paul had nothing to worry about.

But the Hive pspotted an opportunity and took it. It showed Paul from infected eyes how those two guys came to be infected. One of them, completely panicking, ran to the top of his apartment building and in a desperate attempt to stay out of the singing horde’s reach, jumped off. It was more than five stories high and after he landed, he did not move. The other guy was assaulted more directly, having been backed into an alleyway and stabbed to death before being infected. 

The Hive wanted Paul to know these guys had been dead before. And now he knew, his mind went into overdrive. 

More specifically, his mind brought his back to the last normal night of his life. He left Emma behind, which in itself was horrible in hindsight, but what happened after was now more horrifying. His last solid memory was pausing and looking at the Starlight Theater. He must have been infected then and there or soon thereafter. 

But how? What happened to him? Did he get the chance to enter the building to destroy the meteor? It was still standing, but whether he had actually failed or never got there to fail is still unknown. Did they get him from behind, quick and clean, so as not to go through the hassle of trying to persuade him and being rejected before infecting him? Did they perform a dance number he couldn’t recall? Was he fidgeting too much with the grenades on the band that one of them accidentally dropped and the blast had been sudden enough not to have any memories of it?

He believed he would’ve remembered any of those instances. But until he knew whether the Hive was impatient and got him while he was still alive or took the opportunity to kill him before he was infected, it was something he would never know. It was also something he would never learn from the Hive, who would keep this important piece of information away from him. 

Which was the most frustrating thing.

The Hive tried to get him to doubt. Tried to make him anxious so he would be more accessible again, more prone to song and dance and all that jazz. It wasn’t easy to bring up an image of Emma waving these doubts away, because they were so prevalent and there was nothing else to focus on. It was impossible to think of something else at that moment.

Paul was relieved when, after a while, there was some shouting outside of the tent which he readily took as an opportunity to get some fresh air and to involve himself with stuff that would take his mind off of the doubts.

He walked outside and saw how the children, led by Shay and Josh, rushed towards the entrance, where the suppliers had returned from a long journey. Some of the suppliers were loved by the kids and they already braced themselves. They were overrun by the kids and only Leighton remained standing on his feet.

“You’re back!” The kids shouted, as well as the names of the suppliers that were slowly getting up after being tackled. The scene made Paul smile; happiness lay in the smaller things, such as the joy of children and the relief that the suppliers hadn’t lost their lives and brought fresh food, medicine, and other supplies with them.

“Hi, guys!” Leighton said. He took his time to greet every one of the kids. But they surrounded him and he had trouble passing them. “Could you let me go? I got some things to sort.”

He lifted the large bag in the air. He was trying to keep whatever was in it from being accidentally crushed by the children’s excitement.

“I’ll help,” Paul offered. He spoke loud enough for Leighton to hear it. He nodded.

“Thanks for the offer,” he said. Leighton made his way through the wave of children and walked up to Paul, carrying the bag over his shoulder. "Let’s go.”

Paul and Leighton walked towards the supply tent, where they would be sorting all of the items that Leighton had gathered. His bag primarily contained canned greens they hadn’t yet found, and they decided to sort this by the contents of the cans. At first glance, Paul noticed a lot of beans and carrots, but there was a larger variety than this. Either way, sorting this would take his mind off of the doubts.

And they got to sorting the cans.

“So…” Paul started, hoping a conversation with Leighton would take his mind off of Ted’s theory. “You’ve been gone for, what, nine days?”

Leighton nodded. “Yeah. It was a bit longer than expected.”

Originally, they said they would be gone for six, maximum seven days. In the end, they had returned on the ninth day. They made the entire camp worry about them, but everyone still had hope that nothing happened - because if something happened, they ran the risk of being exposed to the Hive and dying themselves.

“Are all resources around already depleted?” Paul wondered out loud. Longer travel times to places they hadn’t yet visited might have been wrongly estimated. 

“No. We just wanted to be extra careful,” Leighton said. He stopped sorting the cans and looked at Paul with a worried gaze. “Have you been seeing things?”

If Paul were still normal, his face might have paled. Instead, he was just perplexed. He had not seen that question coming. “Such as?”

“The Hive,” Leighton explained. "Coming closer to us.”

Paul shook his head. “No. It shows me New York and Hollywood and Hatchetfield.” It showed him how two men died for the express purposes of distressing Paul. It would not show Paul anything about infected coming closer to his close surroundings, in order not to give away any secret attacks or moves to the west. Paul feared for a surprise attack. “I think its trying to intimidate me. But… they’re around here?”

“We suspect they are,” Leighton said, going back to the task at hand, confirming Paul’s most recent fears. "Well, other camps have observed they’re moving west, so we need to be more careful.” Leighton dropped a can. He bent over to pick it up and place it with the other cans that contained peas. “Which will make tomorrow all the more tense.”

Now Paul was really worried. The vagueness of Leighton’s words and the implications that ran through his mind - especially ‘what will happen tomorrow’ - made him feel tense and he dropped a can himself with no sweaty hands to blame this action on. Leighton saw Paul’s distress and picked it up.

“Leighton, what’s going to happen?” Paul asked quietly.

Leighton shook his head. “Nothing. It’s just…” Leighton sighed. “We heard something in the woods. It wasn’t anything like a branch snapping or a bird tweeting. It sounded like wailing. Like a person cried.” Leighton paused, deep in thought. He was conflicted about what he believed. “So either there’s a lonely and desperate survivor out there, or the Hive is trying something new to draw us out.”

Paul, in his current state, believed the latter was true. A lone survivor in the area was not likely, unless this survivor had managed to live through the horror elsewhere and had traveled far enough to almost have reached them, only to be injured enough to cry loud enough for Leighton to overhear it. 

“What do you want to do?” Paul asked him.

“I want to go look out there, but I’m not sure. What if I make the wrong decision and doom us all?" Leighton shook his head, as if to physically disagree with a thought. "What if I make the wrong decision and doom us all?” “Well, if I run into them I could still blow them up, but what if that’s not an option.” 

The work was forgotten. Paul could only stare at Leighton while he was in thought, while he tried to figure out what the best way was. 

“What would you go for?"

“Er..” Paul did not like being put on the spot like this. Of course Leighton would want to ask him for his opinion, but it still came as a shock for Paul, because he had so little time to form an opinion on the matter.

“What do you want, Paul?” Leighton asked him. 

“I…” A light piano tune floated through his mind, but Paul shook his head and the tune disappeared. “I think we should go out there. If it is the Hive, we can retreat. If not, we’ll knowingly have not saved someone who might need it.”

Leighton did not say anything for a while, making Paul believe he said the wrong thing. 

“You’re right,” Leighton eventually said with a hesitant voice. “I’ll make the case in front of the leadership. They’re the ones to decide.”

“Good luck,” Paul said. 

“Thanks,” Leighton said. "I’ll need it if I’m going to get this approved.”


	20. Turning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title is based on the Les Miserables song of the same name, for those who are curious and want to listen to it while reading. 
> 
> Also, I now also have a Black Friday one-shot (I know, shameless plug), but Black Friday was awesome, the songs are great and I had to write something to process that ending. So, you can check it out later if you'd like or not. That's up to you.

As it turns out, Leighton managed to talk the camp leadership into the rescue mission and then gathered volunteers. Thirteen men volunteered for the task; thirteen was close to what the camp could spare. Paul had watched the people come forward, to listen to the stories, to ask questions, sometimes the same ones over fifteen times, to listen to Leighton patiently answer them. Thirteen men were brave enough or were willing to leave the comforts of the camp for a couple of hours for the possibility of a survivor out there.

Paul did not stand with these people. Only when Leighton personally approached him and talked with him for an hour, did Paul agree to come along as well. The trust that Leighton was willing to put in Paul, especially when he himself was still doubting, was what helped Paul make his decision. That, and the fact that he wanted to bring Ted along and he needed someone who might be able to keep him in line - someone like Paul. 

They left at dawn. Leighton had everyone blindfolded and lead them out of the door. Before leaving with Ted, they turned him around a couple of times, so he wouldn’t know where the entrance would be. It brought a smile to Paul’s face to see Ted at the mercy of Leighton, who turned him around until Ted could barely walk on his feet. Then he was lead through the gate, after which the same happened to Paul, minus being turned around. Once outside of the camp, the volunteers were instructed to hold one another and to be lead through the forest by Leighton. The trip was silent, though occasionally you could hear Ted curse when he nearly stumbled or ran into a branch after ignoring the previous warnings of overhanging branches or dangerous roots.

This entire journey must have taken them an hour when they reached their first destination. Leighton turned Ted around again, to completely disorient him, and then told everyone they were allowed to take off their blindfolds.

The open space was not a perfect circle; it was uneven and only qualified because the trees were more spaced out between one another than in another part of the forest. Everyone had to blink a couple of times, as the sun shone brighter now than when they had put the blindfolds on. Not even Paul was immune to this.

When Paul looked beside him, where Ted had been placed, he had had his usual irritated frown on his face and he glared at the blindfold, as Ted wanted to throw it away or vaporize it with his gaze. None of the other volunteers or suppliers had any trouble with their blindfolds or seemed to be angry at them. 

“What’s wrong?” Paul asked.

“That fucking blindfold,” Ted replied. He clenched it in his hands. 

Paul immediately understood - if Ted could have made this journey without the blindfold, he would have been fifty times happier than he was at this moment. Whether he disliked not seeing where he was going or the blatant distrust they showed him (not taking into account that other trustworthy people also were blindfolded and didn’t care), Paul did not know. He just knew that today would be a challenge.

“It was a necessary precaution,” Leighton said. He had noticed Ted’s grumpiness. “In the worst-case scenario, you’d better not know where the camp is.”

“I know where the camp is!” Ted exclaimed - not to go against Leighton, but to say that the precautions they’ve taken were rather pointless in his eyes and he did not believe they worked.

“Do you?” Leighton said. “Point at its location.”

Ted had not expected this to come. But he wasn’t going to back down now. He couldn’t - not while everyone was watching and not while could still defend his dignity. 

“Somewhere out there.” He motioned vaguely to the north, oozing confidence and arrogance. 

“That’s wrong,” Leighton said plainly with a hint of annoyance. “It’s best that you don’t know where the camp is, considering you are a security risk.”

“Then why the fuck did you bring me out here?” Ted had spread his arms in disbelief and watched Leighton expectantly.

“It’s about time you worked for our society, too. Nothing comes for free.” Leighton stepped away from Ted, to bar him from coming up with a come-back. To further render Ted unable to continue, he stood in front of the group of volunteers and raised his voice to address them all.

“Alright, listen up.” The background noise of chatting volunteers died down before Leighton continued. “We will be scouting the area in pairs for a possible survivor. They might be hurt and might not trust us, so it is vital we do not make hasty decisions. Prove you’re not infected if they ask, kill them if they are pretending to be a survivor to lure us out. Only shoot when you are certain they are infected or when they pose a significant threat. When fire your gun, you return to the camp immediately. When you hear a gunshot, you return to the camp immediately. If you do not find anyone within two hours or you hear no gunshot, you return to this place where we will gather to move back to the camp, whether you’ve found any kind of trace of our survivor. Any questions?”

“Yes,” Ted said. “Was I the only one blindfolded?” He’d taken out his blindfold and waved it around.

Everyone reacted in the same way. The sighed or groaned in annoyance and held out their own blindfolds. Paul followed suit as well. The only ones who weren’t blindfolded, to take them to this open space, were Leighton and the other suppliers who volunteered. 

“Does this answer your question?” Leighton asked. Ted was at a loss for words and Leighton took this as the answer. He turned to the group again. “Keep an eye on your time. Now, let’s go.”

Pairs were made. Leighton teamed up with an inexperienced volunteer, just like most of the suppliers did. Only Ted and Paul and two other pairs had no formal supplier in their exploration team. Despite this, they still embarked on their journey, each pair with their own gun and compass, so as to more easily find this open space again without having to rely on remembering their surroundings. 

Ted early on decided he would be handling the gun - because Paul is a pussy and wouldn’t dare to shoot, whereas Ted was a man who would pull the trigger when necessary - and that Paul would be getting the compass. Neither of them were really proficient in working with a compass, especially in the age of Google Maps and GPS, but Paul was both comforted by the thought of handling the compass and irritated by it. 

After all, Ted had the gun. That unnerved him. Was Ted a proficient shooter? Would he confidently aim and miss or hit the bullseye? And how would he react to shooting someone? Would he be indifferent, or would he freak out? Paul could not predict what Ted would do, and that scared him.

The journey was rather uneventful. They were quiet and walked around slowly, looking around for something that shouldn’t be there - a piece of fabric, a flashing color. They listened to the natural noises and tried to pick up an anomaly, such as crying. Watching their environment was much more fruitful than listening carefully. A snapped branch could have been caused by a rabbit that escaped their traps in the winter, the rustling of bushes could be the wind. No matter the cause, Ted was quick to take aim and shoot if he saw something move in front of him. And each time this happened, Paul watched nervously, hoping not to hear a startling gunshot that would send every other team that heard it back to the camp hen they could have also continued.

At one point, they were walking and Ted stopped and aimed to the sky, to the birds sitting in the tree. It happened so quickly, Paul jumped up and believed that Ted was definitely going to shoot. When he didn’t, he couldn’t let this one slide.

“Ted!” 

“What?” Ted turned around to him, the gun pointing at the ground.

“You can’t just… start shooting at birds!” Paul said, “You’ll jeopardize the mission.”

“I didn’t even want to go on this mission!” Ted retorted, “It’s good to be out of the camp, but not like this.”

“That’s because you’ve gotta help out,” Paul said. He stopped walking, so that they would not advance into unknown territory and so there was a bigger chance that Ted would actually listen to him. But Ted was a skeptic and really did not want to listen to a more and more aggravated Paul. “Seriously, if you don’t start doing some sort of work to help the camp, they might consider sending you away. You’ve got to learn to appreciate what you have, because nothing here comes for free.”

Ted did not like this attack on his personality. “Do you really think I haven’t tried? All interesting jobs have been taken and I just can’t find the one thing that I can do in there.”

Paul could not discern whether Ted was just making this up or whether he had seriously thought about it. Not wanting to give Ted the pleasure to have successfully lied to him, he persevered. 

“And so you turn to alcohol,” Paul said flatly.

“Until I’ve found my thing,” Ted insisted. His voice had grown loud enough to scare away all of the wildlife in the area while attracting anyone who might be listening in. Paul glanced around nervously - nothing out of the ordinary. Not a person in sight yet, despite the loudness of Ted’s voice. 

“You know,” Paul then said in a lower voice. “if you were to stop drinking, you might find that one job. How about being a lumberjack?”

“We already have a lot of wood.” There was a large pile of wood near the back of the camp, where most of the lumberjacks were doing their jobs. Paul was still a lumberjack, but he no longer could work seventy-two-hour shifts lest Ted would find out that Paul was not entirely honest about his infection - though it was Ted who ran with the assumption Paul made it out unharmed and had not been infected.

This pile was always shifting in size, sometimes taller or smaller. They were headed to warmer times, so they wouldn’t need as much wood to keep everyone warm, but they needed wood for more than just keeping the fire alive. For example, it might help to build better and more stable structures.

“That goes into the fireplace and is used for other things,” Paul said. “They need plenty. They need a steady supply.” And if the steady supply made the pile larger and larger, they would have plenty when the winter would come again or when they really needed it. 

“Yeah, but I’m not going to be a fucking lumberjack,” Ted said.

Did he not like working with his hands? Was he not looking forward to chopping wood? Or was he too afraid to stay out of the camp for a little too long - the camp, a relatively safe haven where he could drink away his worries?

“You’re right,” Paul then said, “you’d be a shit lumberjack.”

And because he was talking to Ted, he took offense. Of course he wouldn’t be a shitty lumberjack! Nobody would know for certain, since Ted had never been a lumberjack in his life and probably would never be one, either.

“Now, wait a second—” Ted said, but he was cut short when a figure finally revealed herself.

Ted forgot what he was going to say and aimed his rifle and the woman. And when she was in full view, with no trees or branches blocking the view, the men stared at her.

Paul couldn’t do much else. In front of them, only four to five yards away from them, stood Emma. She was exactly like he remembered her. Her hair pulled up high, still wearing the Beanies uniform, but with a piece of cloth wrapped around the lower part of her left leg. 

What he saw couldn’t be true. She wore the same clothes, he must be seeing things. Now his imaginations sprung to life and he started to see it, too. This was really not the time to start seeing her. She couldn’t really be here. Either way, the Hive must see her now as well and it remained quiet. 

Next to him, Ted lowered the gun and he, too, was staring right ahead. 

“The barista,” he said. 

Paul turned his head to Ted, hope and disbelief flaring up.

“You see her too?” 

Ted nodded. “Why wouldn’t I?”

And they looked at Emma again.

She was there. She was there. 

She made it. She got off the island. The cloth around her leg… it must protect the wound. Paul was not a doctor, but it was pretty clear that the rod in her leg was very painful. It must still be hurting or painful now. With limited medical assistance, she had to be lucky to still be walking.

Paul gazed into her eyes. She grinned the widest grin, with the whitest teeth. After everything that happened, she still looked so lovely. Maybe she found comfort in wearing the uniform the same way Paul found comfort wearing his business suit.

“Paul.”

Her voice was warm and inviting.

“Emma,” Paul breathed. She made it! A grin of relief spread across his face, almost as wide as hers was. She took a hesitant step towards him and another - she limped. Of course she did. Paul took a step towards her, ready to embrace her and cry on her shoulder because she’s back, she’s fine, she’s okay. They’re okay.

And then…

“_I’m not your girl anymore~_”

**CRACK**

Emma fell over; Ted aimed the gun in the direction of where she stood. Paul glanced from Emma to Ted and back to Emma again.

“What the fuck?” It was barely even a whisper. It was his only thought, the one thing he could say.

Ted hadn’t changed. He had done as he previously had shown. Anything out of the ordinary, any note sung, would get the bullet. He lowered the gun and nodded to himself, a serious look in his eyes. He didn’t even look conflicted over what he’d just done.

Emma… Paul approached her, his mind still numb. This wasn’t happening. She was faking it. They were together now, she couldn’t leave yet. What a cruel prank. She wasn’t infected.

Only a few feet away from her, he could see Ted had, against all odds, hit the bullseye. The bullet had buried inside her brain, entering in the middle of her forehead. Out of the entry wound oozed blue shit, and even her drool was blue.

She had been infected. 

She could have been saved. She had that chance, if she was infected without dying, if that even mattered with this experimental cure. She could have made it. She could have been saved.

But that wasn’t possible anymore. Ted killed her. 

She was gone. She would never be saved.

She was gone. 

Emma…

Paul sank through his knees and sat next to her, tears forming in his eyes. He lifted her upper body from the ground and cradled her small frame. Why did death make her seem much smaller?

“Emma… I’m sorry, you’ve—”

His voice was trembling. And melodic. He drew out the syllables as if sung and a piano tune played in his head. The music didn’t stop.

No. This was not helpful. He should’ve known the Hive would attack him at his most vulnerable, when he grieved and his defenses were down. He had to push it out again.

But he couldn’t. Each time he fended off the Hive, he imagined Emma doing the work. The image of her he used to conjure up failed; he could only see Emma with her bullet wound with a blue shine in her forehead and she didn’t scare the Hive away, but sang. It was horrible.

There was nothing an imagined version of Emma could do.

There was nothing he could do. At full strength, he might be able to do it himself. He was not at full strength now. He was at his least defended, grieving, not able to focus on anything but Emma, whose body was growing colder in his arms and whose lively glow had disappeared.

“Get away from her!”

Ted grabbed Paul by his shoulder and pulled him up, forcing him to drop Emma. He pulled Paul away, standing between them and looked at Paul in disbelief.

“Are you crazy? She’s infected, she’s oozing that blue shit, and you’re going to her and touching that! That was a damn stupid move. You’re welcome.”

Shut up. Ted aggravated him. His attitude was all wrong. His mood shifted just like that, going from grieving to mad. Paul was furious, separating him and Emma. God, if he could just put his hands around Ted’s neck and make him shut his mouth more permanent… It sure would solve a lot of problems.

No. That is wrong. Paul didn’t want to kill Ted.

And yet he did; deep down, the urge was there and it was growing stronger with each word Ted was speaking.

The piano disappeared, exchanged for a drum tapping to the rhythm of the war song. In the back of his throat pushed the harmonic ‘ohs’ of the chorus, like a burp you try to suppress for as long as you can because if you let it out, it will be a loud one. The music, the urge to let go grew louder when he looked at Ted.

Ted. The other one who escaped the Hive. He and Paul, preferably victims one and two of today - one and two of many.

He had to get out. 

“Get away from me,” Paul said softly, afraid of any note escaping his mouth. He turned, so as not to see Ted so he wouldn’t hear the music as loudly.

Ted frowned - he didn’t know. “What? Are you okay?”

“Just… don’t follow.”

Ted wasn’t going to stay away. So Paul ran. He just ran back from where he came from, panicking. Ted called after him, but he was never a runner, so Paul easily put a decent distance between himself and Ted, all the while his mind being on high alert with the fitting drums to match. 

_This couldn’t be happening. This could not be happening!_

But it was and he’d better find a place where he could calm down.

The camp. His tent. It was the one place at this moment where he would have a decent chance of calming down. 

And he ran to the camp.


	21. Broken heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of the chapter is inspired by Duncan Laurence's song "Arcade". I recommend you listen to it during or after reading the chapter.

Leighton could positively say something like this had never happened before.

Well, they never searched for a possible survivor outside of the city walls before, so that was a first, too. Everyone involved knew what they were supposed to and, other than Ted, he had the greatest confidence they would act responsibly and think rationally before acting. But they heard a gunshot - someone had come across the hostile Hive and hopefully killed it. Everyone should be gathering back on the open space where the group had split up into smaller groups.

But on the way back to this location, Leighton saw Paul running by in the distance. He seemed to be in a hurry, running away from something, but nobody was chasing him. There also was nothing ahead that could encourage Paul to run.

Obviously, Leighton was extremely worried about him as well as about everyone he was responsible for. The supplier he’d formed a pair with would meet up with the others, and Leighton went after Paul, to make sure everything was going alright.

Leighton found it very hard to catch up with Paul. He didn’t react to his name when Leighton shouted it and he ran at a consistent pace, one that Leighton could not keep up with since he did not possess the same stamina Paul had been cursed with at his infection. Still, Leighton managed to never let Paul out of sight.

This continued until they reached the camp again. Someone from outside found their camp without any help; that was something that had never happened before.

Leighton could catch his breath now, but the danger was far from over. 

* * *

Finally! The camp!

How much time had passed? Didn’t care, didn’t matter. He was back. That was great.

He now needed to go back to his tent. The sooner the better. The Hive taunted him, kept ranking Paul back to his least favorite moments, to his worst actions. It showed how Bill died, how Ted was infected, how they shot Emma. That he had indeed reached the meteor and destroyed only a part of it, but that action would not kill it. There was a Hive mind, yes, but no active “queen” of anything of the sort. It operated through the spores, ever communicating with one another and starting on the same wavelength. Only when every infected living organism was thoroughly destroyed or disinfected.

“Paul?”

Leighton stood next to him. He shouldn’t be here. He should still be out in the woods. What was he even doing here?

“Paul, are you okay?”

No, he was not. The Hive was attacking him and he couldn't say a word without singing. Not in this state. Definitely not now others were watching his every move.

He could barely even shake his head without it being top obviously rhythmic. He nervously tapped his foot to a certain rhythm, but nobody paid attention to it as he had displayed this behavior before, when he was feeling more like himself and wasn’t slipping away each time he did not pay full attention to not being in a musical.

“Open the gate,” Leighton said to the men, standing beyond the walls and invisible for Paul. At his command, the gate opened and Paul walked inside as quickly as he could. He tried to keep his gaze ahead, but he could not help but glance at the sides. He could hardly remember what he’d seen in the sides, the defense mechanisms hidden from any attacking horde as well as the unknowing members of their new, tiny society. The Hive would know. One moment was enough to start dissecting, to start making a plan of attack. His fault. Another thing he couldn’t do right.

That’s it. Almost there. Just another step and another and another, one foot after the other. The tent was right there. Just a little further. 

“Paul.”

Oh no. Shay. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. This was not good. He couldn’t see her. She couldn’t see him. Not like this. He didn’t want to disappoint her, didn’t want her to see him like this. She shouldn’t have been here. Well, the children had no clear daily schedule (neither did the rest of the camp), but it would’ve been nice if she hadn’t spotted him. 

Shay came to him. He tried not to make eye contact. He tried walking past her. He tried to ignore her. But that was impossible at this post in time. They trusted one another. A weird friendship has formed between them. Paul could not ignore Shay and she would definitely be worried.

It happened so quickly. He did not listen to Shay; she did not stop and was naturally worried. His anxiety about Shay bugging him interfered with his ability to keep the Hive at bay. He could not think about both; he had to make a choice. Fortunately, the choice was obvious.

“Stop.”

That's what he wanted to say. That's what came out of his mouth. But he unfortunately could not control how it came out of his mouth. It was a long and drawn-out note, at a louder volume then he wanted to say it. It lasted over a little too long before Paul could cover his mouth and stop it.

Fear in his eyes, Paul looked around him. People had heard. People were staring at him and whispering among each other. Leighton looked disappointed, but didn't seem angry in any way. And Shay… she was frightened. She took a couple of steps backward, away from Paul.

Paul would not explain himself. Not now. It was proven he couldn't speak. So he ran for it; ran away, to his safe space, in the hopes it had not changed at all. He pushed away the fabric, half-stumbling inside his comfort space. He let himself fall on the bed and closed his eyes. 

He was back. It was good, he was out of sight, out of mind, and in a relatively safe space.

He was alone now.

The silence was deafening. Especially because the silence was not the silence he had gotten used to, but one filled with music in his ear and lyrics on his mind. The soundtrack of his mind, a tune he’d rather not hear. 

But the music subsided. The Hive gave him one moment of peace. It hadn’t left - of course it hadn’t, but it gave Paul time to calm down, remember what had happened and strike again. One thing was sure; Paul wasn’t going to get back the ground the Hive had won. The Hive would take and take and he could only try to defend what little space he had left for as long as he could.

But for how long could he? Emma was gone, Ted had to know his secret by now, he scared not just Shay, but a whole lot of other people too. The trust he’d built was gone. The life he’d built disappeared with it. If he did regain control somehow, they’d probably evict him.

And all of this just because Emma…

_Emma._

A single piano tune, soft and gentle, played in his mind. It was inviting, simple. It repeated itself continuously, asking Paul to sing, asking him to just let it out once. After all, the best way to express your strong emotions was with a strong emotional song. The lyrics were fitting - of course they were, he was in a fucking musical again, he thought he’d never be in one again, this didn’t need to happen. 

But he allowed it. What the heck, just one song. And yes, the Hive was right. It did indeed fit his fucked-up life at the moment. The instrumental picked up as soon as the first words escaped his mouth, low and unsure.

_A broken heart is all that's left_

_I'm still fixing all the cracks_

_Lost a couple of pieces when_

_I carried it, carried it, carried it home_

_I'm afraid of all I am_

_My mind feels like a foreign land_

_Silence ringing inside my head_

_Please, carry me, carry me, carry me home_

_I spent all of the love I've saved_

_We were always a losing game_

_Small-town boy in a big arcade_

_I got addicted to a losing game _

_All I know, all I know_

_Loving you is a losing game_

It felt good. It shouldn’t feel good. And yet he progressed from a barely audible shaking voice to a near-perfect tone at a normal volume. By the end, he’d be belting or singing as loudly as he could. Then, everyone would have heard him and everyone would know.

_I don't need your games, game over_

_Get me off this rollercoaster_

And he screamed. And the tears rolled over his face. This wasn’t him anymore; this was the Hive expressing through him.

And then, after the chorus, there was quiet. Perfect quiet in between the sobbing. 

He’d lost. He was still here, the Hive hadn’t pushed him out yet, but he lost. 

It was done. 


	22. Chaos

Eventually, all of the volunteers who wanted to help find the possible survivor returned to the camp without anyone new. They were not surprised they didn’t find anyone, but they were disappointed. Some of them had their hopes up, that they would help someone out and add some new blood to their society. Some of them had heard the gunshot and knew it must have been a set-up. Others hadn’t heard and learned from Ted what had happened.

Ted was not the best source. But he was the only source they could consult since Paul was in no state of telling them exactly what had happened through an unbiased lens. And when the group arrived at the base again, it was about time that Ted recounted the story once again to Leighton, so they might help Paul. Until then, nobody was allowed to come close to him.

“Ted,” Leighton called out. Ted immediately turned to Leighton and came closer. “What happened to Paul?”

“He’s here?” Ted asked. Leighton nodded.

“Yes, he is. He’s in his tent.” He blocked Ted’s way, “but you’re not seeing him until I know what happened in the woods.”

Ted sighed. “We did what we were told. We went out to find that person you heard the other day and sure enough, we found them. It was Paul’s barista crush.” 

“Emma,” Shay said. Ted nodded.

“That one, yeah.” He paused. Maybe he tried to find the right words, but Leighton could not be certain. “She was infected. I ended it, as we were told to do, but Paul just…” Ted shrugged. “I don’t know what happened, but he just ran away from me! I know he loved her and all, but reacting like that seems a little dramatic for someone like Paul.”

Okay. So Ted shot the person that Paul loved, the person that he hoped had made it but never wanted to be too hopeful about. It must have been their first reunion since Hatchetfield, and Ted had cut it short. Ted had failed to see just how distraught Paul was at this loss. 

“Did he say anything?” Leighton asked. How much did Ted know about the situation?

“He was muttering to himself," Ted said, “And he told me to stay away from him and then ran off. Do you have any clue as to what the hell is going on with him?”

Yes, they did. And maybe it was time that Ted knew, too, to avoid conflicts in the future. 

“Ted, there’s something you need to know,” Leighton said with a solemn tone. 

“What is it?” Ted asked. Leighton didn’t answer immediately and Ted’s eyes fell on Shay, who was clearly concerned about something; he hadn’t seen her so gloomy since she spoke about her parents. He became agitated in an instant.“The fuck is going on here!? Just tell me.”

Leighton took a couple of seconds to glare at Ted - _what did you think I was going to do, you doofus?_ \- and then shared Paul’s biggest secret that only Ted did not know about.

“Paul’s infected.”

Ted had no idea how to react to it. A confused look came to his face. It was rude and very unnecessary to claim this, because if Paul had been infected, Ted obviously would have noticed. But then again, Leighton and especially Shay wouldn’t ever make this kind of claim without serious proof. And their straight faces suggested they weren’t saying it to be rude or to present just something to him to placate him until the real problem was solved.

His second reaction was straight up denial and he shook his head. 

“No. No, he couldn’t be,” he said, a nervous smile on his face. “No. You’re joking. Not the best time at all to bring it up, either. He’s not infected. Paul could never. He doesn’t—”

He paused for only a second, to find the next words because obviously, Paul couldn’t be infected. But in the relative silence of the camp and the conversation, he heard something. And then he listened. someone was singing. It was a nearly inaudible mess of sounds, but it was melodic. And it came from Ted and Paul’s tent. Where Paul was. 

Ted released a breath. That smile was completely wiped off of his face and he could not look away from the tent. There still was a small part of his mind that denied one of the worst possible scenarios had happened. He hoped he was just imagining things and Leighton and Shay were still somehow trying to keep him from finding out something else. 

“That’s Paul,” Leighton sadly confirmed. “He’s not feeling well.”

“He really is infected,” Ted said quietly. Something cracked. This couldn’t be happening. How, and when, and where did it happen? Many questions floated around, but there were no answers, as far as he was aware. And somehow, another thought took over his mind. There was an infected person in the camp. Something should be done to help in this situation. Suddenly, the gun in his hand weighed twice as heavy. 

He took one step towards the tent - just one step - and Shay immediately reacted. She sprinted the short distance and clung to Ted’s leg. It impeded his speed and made it impossible for Ted to go anywhere without getting Shay to let go of him. On top of that, he truly had not seen this coming.

“Shay!” Ted shouted in surprise. He shook his leg, but to no avail. “Let go!”

“You can’t kill him!” Shay shouted. Ted looked at Leighton, who did not do anything to help either one of them. If he was amused, he did not show it. 

Damn, her hands were like little claws hanging on to a struggling prey, unwilling to let go. He tried to pull them off, but it was to no avail.

“I wasn’t going to kill him!” Ted rebutted. “I just—”

“You killed Emma,” Shay said with an accusatory tone. Good Lord, that’s what bothering her?

“She was infected, she was gonna kill us,” Ted defended his actions. How could she be so upset about the death of someone she had never even met! “And if we don’t do something, Paul will, too.” 

This did not convince Shay to let him go. He wouldn’t be able to move, so he turned to Leighton.

“How long has he been like this?”

“According to Paul, since Hatchetfield,” Leighton answered honestly. This felt like another bomb had been dropped on the ruins of his mind, which had been destroyed previously by the revelation that Paul was infected at all. He’d barely begun processing this news and was not ready to process this new piece of information, even though he had asked for it.

“He’s never been cured? Not even—” Ted stopped himself. He was angry and confused and felt dumb, but that didn’t mean he would further spread the image of being stupid that others have of him. Of course Paul couldn’t have been cured at his arrival, because those freaky scientists wouldn’t have had the cure by then. “How did he function in the camp? How is he not—”

“We don’t know,” Leighton cut him off. He didn’t feel like listening to all the questions he didn’t want to answer right now, as there were more pressing matters. “In his own words, he really doesn’t like musicals.”

“Damn it, Paul!” Ted exclaimed. How could he feel about it? He had no idea. He was mad Paul was infected, let himself be infected, but on the other hand, he had seemed absolutely fine until not even an hour ago. It could have all been an act. “No, he couldn’t have been himself. That wasn’t Paul you’ve gotten to know, it was the blue shit that got to him!”

“He was consciously fighting off the Hive,” Leighton said, but Ted shook his head. No. Leighton was wrong about this. If Shay believed the same, she was wrong, too. They didn’t know Paul. Did they even know the basics of musical theater? It wouldn’t surprise Ted if they didn’t.

“Yeah, well, musicals have parts in them without singing, too.” For the sake of argument, he left musicals like Hamilton (with barely any dialogue) out of the equation. “And if he did want to sing, he could easily do it under his breath. We’ve all been played and that Hive has all the time in the world to construct the perfect plan to get the better of us survivors. To get to us and kill us.”

“We know Paul,” Leighton argued. “He was in control.” But Ted did not listen; he was unable to listen in this state, or so Leighton believed.

“How would you know?” Ted asked. “How do you know that he was in control? How do you know he wasn’t just playing a part?”

“Because he voluntarily gave blood for the cure that’s keeping you in control,” Leighton said, not raising his voice and trying his hardest not to shout back or show anything in his posture that showed animosity. Ted, once again, was shocked into silence. Somewhere, he should’ve known that the scientists getting a cure without any help in such a short amount of time. But the thought hadn’t occurred to him yet that the help would be Paul. Probably because he only just learned that Paul had been infected and fighting it every second. 

Wait, did that mean he had Paul’s blood running through his veins? Ted shuddered. _Gross. _Not because it was Paul’s, but because Paul was also infected and that was what as in his body. Not what he had wanted. 

“How else did you think this would even be possible?” Leighton continued without regard for Ted’s shock. “Efforts have been made for a cure with just the ‘blue shit’, as you so eloquently put it, but until they had a blood sample from the one guy that could resist the Hive, they couldn’t make it work.”

Ted looked at Leighton. He’d heard the words, but it needed some time to register. In the meantime, he turned to Shay, who was still hanging onto his leg.

“Don’t kill Paul,” she said. “Promise me.”

Ted sighed and nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “I promise I won’t kill him.” 

That seemed to be enough for Shay. She let go of her uncle, but she still stared at him like she didn’t fully trust him. Ted nodded at her and then looked at Leighton again, who also didn’t look like he trusted him. Why did nobody trust him?

“If he turns out to be our doom, I won’t go out of my way to save him, either.” He wanted to keep it at that so he could move on to a safe space where he could process all of the information away from everyone. But then something else came up. “And another thing—”

“Shut up,” Leighton said flatly, a frown on his face. He turned his head in a certain direction. All of it a very weird way to tell Ted to just stop talking. And very rude, too.

“No, I won’t,” Ted responded.

“It’s not personal, Ted, just shut up,” Leighton said. He briefly looked at Ted again and this time, Ted could see the panic that resided in Leighton’s eyes. This effectively silenced Ted.

He couldn’t hear it at first. It was that subtle, that quiet. Even as the sounds became more audible, it was only slowly growing and Ted had to make a big effort to hear what Leighton was trying to locate.

Then he heard it. And he listened and heard it better, as usually happened when you actively listened instead of passively hearing. It was one thing, one sound repeated over and over again. One long drawn out ‘oh’ that traveled up and down the musical scale.

Ted got goosebumps when he realized what he was listening to. He hadn’t heard it before - he truly hadn’t - but he had this described to him. And his mind threw him back to Hatchetfield, to running away from the barista and Paul to make it to the chopper, to that army dude and his friends coming at him, shooting him infecting him…

“Is that—?” The words escaped his mouth, but he couldn’t finish.

“It is,” Leighton said quietly. His skin had paled one shade. “Stay here.”


	23. Fear

This was the worst day of Ted’s life. And that’s saying much, considering he’s already had a few, with the day of his infection making the top of the list.

But no, not anymore. The day of the infection could not compare with the turmoil of today. He may have been infected before, but then it happened so fast he didn’t know what to think at the time. Today, he was aware of what was going on. He stood face to face with an infected - she sang! - and he reacted accordingly. Which was shooting first, asking questions later, and metaphorically shitting his pants. Then came the chaos of finding out that Paul was infected, faking being normal this entire time and finding out he relapsed because Ted had shot the girl he liked (again, she was infected!). And now… now things were about to get a lot scarier, with the Hive standing almost at the door. 

“Hall!” Leighton shouted at a loud enough volume to scare Ted out of his thoughts. This Hal person, standing not too far away, turned his head so he could listen. “Go visit Hoover. Tell them to initiate the evacuation protocol and get themselves and the cure out of here. Also, please tell anyone on your way.”

“On it!” 

The woman Hall had been talking to heard those words and fully understood what was going on. Though, to Ted’s surprise, she did not cry or panic or showed any distress to the outside world. She took a rigid breath.

“I’ll gather the women and children,” the woman whose name slipped Ted said.

“Thanks, Sonya,” Leighton said and Sonya rushed past him. Shay, silent the entire time, followed Sonya so as to stay close enough with the person now tasked with getting her out alive. Ted was about to follow her - what else was he supposed to be doing in this scenario? - but Leighton stopped him by grabbing on to his arm. 

“You’re not going with her,” Leighton said. Ted had not expected this answer and pushed the hand off of his arm. 

“Why not?” Ted asked. “I can gather people, too. Unless you believe I can’t do that for some reason.”

Leighton waited a little to answer. Maybe he was biting back something he would have otherwise said out loud, something that would definitely have offended Ted.

“You are needed here,” he said calmly.

“What?” Ted had no clue what he was supposed to do. Leighton’s tone implied as much. But if Ted was supposed to know what to do, people have yet to tell him what was expected of him in situations like these. Actually, since he woke up here, nobody had kept him up to date with the latest safety measures in the base, other than ‘stay inside to live’.

This confusion brought a frown on Leighton’s face. “Has nobody explained the evacuation protocol to you?”

“They were too busy unrightfully shouting at me,” Ted said. Leighton did not like having to fully explain the protocols to him - he should’ve been informed when he woke up - but he was also very much aware that if Ted didn’t know the why behind having to stay here, he would be less likely to cooperate - even less than he already was. 

“In case of an emergency, the scientists grab their blueprints and the cure, and they leave with the leadership, women, and children. The men will stay behind to buy the others some time to get out.” Leighton watched Ted’s face drop while he spoke, the realization hitting him hard. “We don’t have much time, let’s get into position.”

Leighton already turned his body to hopefully get on with it soon, to leave with Ted so he could be at the front line.

“I don’t want to fight,” Ted said. Leighton sighed - the worst-case scenario. Why wouldn’t he? He still had the gun from the mission, he could easily aim and pull the trigger. He’d done it before today, why would now be any different? Yes, there were more people now, but that shouldn’t be able to stop him now. He was starting to realize what Paul meant when he said Ted was a coward in these kinds of situations - which Leighton hoped wouldn’t be the case.

“You’re a member of this society, so you will have to,” Leighton said. It was time Ted repaid the society for taking him in and allowing him to use all of their resources. 

“I’m not— don’t touch me!”

Leighton pulled his arms back, hands in the air. He wasn’t going to touch Ted. He wasn’t going to force the Hatchetfield native to do anything he didn’t want to do. But if he would just want to help out, now that would be great. 

“Ted,” Leighton tried again, at a softer tone and a pleading look in his eyes. “Please. There’s a good reason why we’re staying.”

“What, because we’re expendable?” Ted commented. Leighton shook his head. 

“Because the others need to make it,” Leighton explained. “Women can have children. Children grow up to be adults and have children of their own. The scientists give humanity a chance to survive past infection, and they might even develop a vaccine that makes it impossible to be infected in the future. But they can’t do this if they can’t even make it out of here. We need to face the Hive, we need to distract them by fighting back and yes, it does include killing those who might have been saved, but if those still conscious make it out, it doesn’t matter if we kill some who could be saved. Or if we are to sacrifice ourselves for the survival of those who can continue the human race.”

Wow, that was a mouthful. But it had to be said. Maybe he should’ve singled out Shay specifically, but this did not only concern Shay - it concerned every child, every woman in their camp and in bases all around the United States. Leighton just hoped this was enough to change Ted’s mind. 

And for a while, Ted was silent. It took too long, they needed to get into position, but they could spare these seconds if it meant Ted was getting around. And the hope remained for a little while.

“So we’re expendable,” Ted said. His unwillingness to step away from that sentiment was like a blow to Leighton's morale. He shook his head and he sighed audibly. 

“If that’s all you make of it, fine,” Leighton said. “But you have a gun, so you'd better go over there and you fight.” Because it is the right thing to do. Ted knew that, but he was too afraid to acknowledge this or even to step up, be a man and do his duty. Instead, he took a step back and shot a distrustful look at Leighton. 

“I’m not doing that, you’re crazy!” Ted exclaimed. Luckily, everyone else who could have heard it was too busy actually preparing to fight. The singing in the background had grown significantly; the Hive was coming closer and they did not have the time to continue arguing with one another or to even stay at this stalemate for much longer.

“This is not the time for accusations,” Leighton said.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Ted “I’m leaving.”

Ted turned around to walk away from Leighton, the arguments, the fights.

“Ted,” Leighton tried one last time, but Ted immediately shot him down. 

“I don’t fight,” Ted emphasized every word and glared at Leighton. “I don’t want to and you can’t make me.”

Leighton could only shrug in response. 

“Good luck, then. I hope you won’t regret your decision.”

Whether Ted had heard this, Leighton would never know. He was too far off already, going to the space where most of the women and children were gathering. He had taken the gun with him; it was one less gun they could use for the fight, one less person that may hold back the horde.

But it would have to do. If they hadn’t been able to save Ted, they would have been in the exact same position. Leighton went to the entrance nothing but the Hive and the oncoming battle.

Let’s hope this would go well.

* * *

It was chaos outside.

Paul didn’t need to be outside to see it, to feel it. With his eyes closed, he saw what happened through a hundred pairs. A thin piece of fabric could barely keep out the cold, let alone the sounds. It was brutal. They were brutal and they sang of an incoming victory. Paul sang along under his breath.

He didn’t join them. He did not want to. They would have to get him out of the tent if they wanted him. And they did want him but did not yet come. They knew Paul wasn't going anywhere. They let him be until everyone was dead and joined or had fled.

Only an explosion managed to shake him up. Paul snapped out of the semi-trance he’s been in and turned his head to where the noise originated from.

_What the fuck was that?_

He remembered Leighton talking about crude explosives they made; a failsafe in case the suppliers couldn't escape a Hive attack. Someone had ade use of their own device, either by throwing it in the crowd or detonating it as the supplier was surrounded. Both were possible. Both were horrible.

And his mind wandered off again. He saw the chaos through their eyes and knew it was pointless. Unless many more bombs or grenades or explosives would go off, unless samples of the cure would be transported away from here, everything would be lost. Nobody was going to survive. Nobody! Not even Leighton and Callie. Not even Ted and Shay.

Shay…

They hadn't found her yet. The Hive got two kids, but not her. And his mind made An image of her, smiling, laughing at something silly Paul or Callie had said. She was still safe for now.

But not for long. She, too, would be caught up in this mess soon.

_No._

He shouldn’t wallow about things to come

He’s lost Bill and Alice and Emma. Each time, he has been helpless and only watched. He couldn’t bear to lose someone else to this horror, including Shay, including himself. (And Ted… he’s always been an annoying coworker, but he didn’t deserve this fate either)

He had to help her.

But he couldn't if he started in his tent. He had to go out.

But what could he do? One man against a hundred. The odds were hopelessly not in his favorites.

But he was Paul Matthews. The Paul who thrice defied the Hive. He was the guy who didn’t like musicals and who broke free of the Hive’s control. If he spoke, the Hive would listen.

But he could not speak yet. Only songs escaped his mouth. It might take a while before he had regained that level of control. 

He’d find a way. He would make them listen.


	24. I'm alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title comes from the eponymous song (I'm alive) from the musical Next to Normal (to which I do not own any rights). Enjoy!

Okay. Okay. Okay okay okay okay okay. Okay.

No other word in the English language was as versatile in intonation and meaning as this little particle. Except maybe “fuck”. But while “fuck” had this aggressive or sexual undertone, okay had a more comforting tone to it. Maybe that’s while Paul said it so much. Maybe that’s why he was using it so much right now.

_Okay. It’s loud outside. _

_Okay. Just get yourself over it. It’s going to be fine._

_Okay. Maybe you should just get back into my tent and pretend it isn’t happening._

_Okay. That’s what the Hive wants, you’re going to give it what it wants._

_Okay. Or maybe it wants you to go out and do this stupid thing._

_Okay. Right, no turning back now. Just go ahead and do it. _

_Okay. Why aren’t you moving? _

_Okay. This is so scary._

_Okay. You shouldn’t be so afraid. It’s the Hive, it will listen when you speak and go where you go. Yes, it’s scary, but you _ _gotta_ _ do it._

_Okay. What if I don’t?_

_Okay. Then you’re still stuck in this cycle of arguing with yourself about doing this thing and you won’t have made any progress and those you care about will have less time to get out._

_Okay. But I’m still not sure, though._

_Stop._

Paul didn’t think he’d ever see the day that he would silence himself. Better yet, that he’d silence himself over the use of his favorite word. there could have never been enough ‘okay’ - until now. It was time to stop saying okay and delaying the inevitable. So, time to man up and with his head up high to face the Hive. Should go great. Or not. Maybe. 

Paul knew what he wanted to do; doing it, the action itself, was a whole lot harder because why didn’t he just start?

Because he wasn’t in the right position. There really was no good position, but he had to find one to calm himself down and then just get the fuck on with it. The sooner you’re done it, the better. 

Okay, so, where? 

Tent! He could climb up the pole. They’d see him from up there. 

_No, bad idea. _He could fall, break his neck and lose control. Stay on the ground.

So, where else?

Someplace central. The main plaza; there were not many infected there. But they could circle him, trap him, he didn’t want that. What about the platform to the side? Where they gathered the wood that others had cut outside of the walls, where the logs were stored before they moved on to their final destination. Back against the wall, the horde before him. He might climb over. He might run left or right to hopefully find a hidden tunnel. 

Yes. That’s where it was going to happen. 

He walked over to the platform and nearly walked on a vial that randomly lay on the grass. A vial that hadn't been there before, cracked but not broken, and some fluid inside that looked more red than purple. The cure, Paul knew. He’d never seen it before, but this was definitely one vial of the cure. He bent over and picked it up, stored it in his pocket. It happened mindlessly - was he going to use it? Break it? He didn’t know, but he had it now.

What was he doing again?

Oh. Right. Platform.

Paul walked over to the platform, somehow gaining confidence and shitting his pants every step of the way. He was going to do it. He didn’t like it, but he needed to do it. He was in no position to hold a gun, to fight on the frontline like other men. This was the next best thing.

He stood on the platform, trembling from head to toe, and he opened his mouth.

Something came out of it. A sound. That was as specific as Paul could be. Long, round, would put a normal person out of breath. Something a trained singer would produce. Something that nowadays counted as scary.

The Hive, all its drones, ceased what they were doing and looked at Paul. A hundred and more pairs of eyes on him. More than arrived at the camp. New eyes had joined them. Clarke. A couple of the volunteers from this morning. Josh - the Hive showed how he thought hiding was better than running away, his fear trapping him on his on and providing no help.

Okay. He had their attention, as expected.

Now what?

He didn’t think this through. He had to distract them, yes, but he failed to make a solid plan. Make them listen. But how?

Some light guitar started playing, accompanied by a drum. Paul didn’t want it - but even more peculiar, the Hive didn’t want it. It tried to suppress the guitar in favor of the war song, but this failed. It didn’t want Paul to sing to this music, to sing these lyrics. Was it trying to distract him with conflicting melodies?

Paul took a look at those lyrics and then knew the Hive wasn’t toying with him. The lyrics suit the situation - sometimes - and were originally sung in the context of defiance and power over another person. And if the Hive didn't want him to sing it, he would do so. In his state, still that same state, he wouldn’t have been able to only speak plainly, anyway.  
  


_I am what you want me to be_

_And I'm your worst fear_

_You'll find it in me_

_Come closer_

_Come close_

The Hive obeyed, despite his broken voice. They took some steps closer.

That was weird, too. He didn't sing as perfectly as before, as in the tent. Nevertheless, he continued. Mostly because he couldn’t stop now, but also because something else inside him had woken up - his will to fight.

_I am more than memory_

_I am what might be _

_I am mystery_

_You know me _

_So show me_

_When I appear_

_It's not so clear_

_If I'm a simple spirit_

_Or I'm flesh and blood_

_But I'm alive, I'm alive, I am so alive_

_And I feed on the fear that's behind your eyes_

_And I need you to need me, it's no surprise_

_I'm alive_

_So alive_

_I'm alive_

Was Paul enjoying it? It was a strange feeling, a weird combination, joy, and disgust. Disgust because, well, he didn't like musicals. Joy because despite everything, the Hive seemed to be disgusted by his lack of singularity and lack of just falling in line and doing what the majority did.

He wasn't finished.

_I am flame_ _ and_ _ I am fire_

_I am destruction, decay, and desire_

_I'll hurt you_

_I'll heal you_

_I'm your wish, your dream come true_

_And I am your darkest nightmare too_

_I've shown you_

_I own you_

_And though you made me_

_You can't change me_

_I'm the perfect stranger_

_Who _ _knows_ _ you too well_

_But I'm alive, I'm alive, I am so alive_

_And I'll tell you the truth if you let me try_

_You're alive, I'm alive, and I'll show you why_

_I'm alive_

_So alive_

_I'm alive_

From the corner of his eye, as he continued to perform for the Hive, he noticed how two more camp members who had hidden and who couldn’t earlier leave ran to the food tent. They disappeared inside and did not come back out. That must be where the escape tunnel was; or at least where one of them was located, if they had had the time to dig more than one tunnel. 

Paul had seen this. Paul had thought this - this was all information up for grabs, something the Hive could easily look into and use. Paul half expected some of the drones to depart from the group and go after the last two camp members that ran away. But they didn’t - they were mesmerized, listening only to Paul, looking only at Paul. It may as well have been like these two had never been there.

That was good. Paul defied them again, he’d lost count, but this time it was more active than it had been before. He was pumped. He didn’t like singing, emoting, dancing, but if it made the Hive listen and realize he was not their puppet, this was the way it had to go.

_No, no, no_

_I'm alive, I'm alive, I am so alive_

_If you climb on my back, then we both can fly_

_If you try to deny me, I'll never die_

_I'm alive_

_So alive_

_I'm alive_

_Yeah, yeah_

That was the end of the song. There were no more lyrics, no more guitar riffs or drum solos. Not that they had been overly present to begin with. But it was silent, deadly silent, and the Hive stared at him. Everyone held the same expression: shock and disbelief, expressing exactly what the Hive was feeling about him.

In the meantime, Paul was nothing but extremely anxious. He’d sung and even danced - who’d have thought he’d do it out of free will? - when the Hive had not wanted him to. He had effectively distracted them for three minutes and a half. He had their full attention now. 

Now what?

Talking wouldn’t do. Talking would only prompt the large mass to speak in unison, during which the Hive may decide to be aggressive. Some of the men it had taken had guns. Only one of them needed to aim and pull the trigger, and then reinfect him. That was game over.

He couldn’t let the Hive do anything to the people. Three minutes and a half, even while running, may not have put enough distance between the slowest of their group and the Hive that could endlessly pursue without having to rest. He needed to think of something else.

He wasn’t going to sing again. He already did that, his throat was surprisingly dry, and he really had used up his singing points for the remainder of the year. He didn’t want to dance, either, mostly because he had the worst moves and whatever provided him the music of the last song wasn’t giving him any background sounds to demonstrate his horrible moves to. 

Besides, the showmanship trick had worked once. It wouldn’t work twice. Or so Paul thought.

So, what now?

The food tent. There was a tunnel somewhere there. And in their haste, the last two escapees may not have completely covered it up again.

Taking advantage of the Hive’s non-response, Paul jumped off the platform and raced to the food tent. Only when he entered it did the Hive start moving again, walking instead of running, all frowns and marching to the drums of the war song that made Paul anxious. 

He found the tunnel. He tried to move the cover back to its original the best he could, but there came a point he just had to let it be and continue his flight, lest he be caught.

Once he came above the ground again, he chose a random direction to run in. If they chose to pursue him, in anger, they wouldn’t go after Shay and everyone else. Now, he could only hope he did not just decide to run in the same direction the others had fled to. 


	25. Into the sun

Dawn broke - they had made it to the morning. 

Their flight must have already lasted for at least sixteen hours, if not longer, and they weren’t going to stop. Everyone had dropped what they were doing to evacuate in an orderly fashion, but that plan was thwarted when the first explosion went off and people grew more scared. Maybe Ted was an instigator of this anxiousness or he was one of the first ones affected by it, but panic broke out. Miraculously, nobody was trampled. 

Some suppliers who knew their way around and were exempt from gun duty guided the group away from the camp, in the direction the camp leaders instructed them to go. These suppliers walked in the front and the back of the group, checking everywhere for any sign of the Hive. They carried precious cargo: cans of food that hadn’t been sorted yet. It had been easy to grab a bag and run, since packing a bag with these items would have taken them too long.

And they ran. In the first couple of hours, they ran as fast and as long as their bodies would allow them. Peer pressure helped some run along a lot longer than they otherwise would have. If some of the kids grew tired, an adult with enough strength picked them up and carried them. 

After two hours, they stopped running but were told to continue their way. The more distance there was between them and the camp, the better. It meant the Hive would have to find them again, pursue them again, that there would generally be more time between now and being infected.

But they traveled in a large group. Ted, who was walking to the back of the group, had already noticed the group as a collective left many footprints in the mud, trampled plants and other things. They were leaving a clear trail for the Hive to follow. The only reason why he didn’t open his mouth to complain about it, was the supplier walking close to him telling him to not even consider speaking. People were already afraid, they didn’t need to be told their footprints would lead the Hive towards them. 

When night fell, the group was allowed to rest. Someone kept the time; one hour to sit down, to talk with a low voice, to sleep if you must. They were not given any food at that time; they would eat on the way. Ted sat down and looked around. He was not familiar with all of the faces, but he knew some were missing. He didn’t see Leighton - Ted figured he must be up at the front of the group. Ted did see Shay sitting with Callie, not able to close her eyes but too tired to walk around. Like Shay, Ted remained seated as well, mostly because he didn’t like to be interrupted while he slept, and because he was too stressed out to sleep. Like most of the people here. 

Ted didn’t think he’d be in a situation like this. This was like a refugee camp he’d seen on the news before the outbreak, only without the tents and in much fewer numbers. No - this was a refugee camp. The United States, maybe even beyond, was a war-zone. He always dismissed these ideas, what he saw on the news. Out of sight, out of mind, not his business, so why should he care? Now he was in the middle of it. He had to care now it concerned him and Shay and those she cared for. And he wished he had something to drink his thoughts and feelings away, to numb him enough to mindlessly go on. 

The hour went by far too fast. Soon, people were getting up again to continue their frightful journey away from the place they had grown used to, away from what they had started to call “home”. As promised, some cans were going around. They were allowed three reasonable bites before passing the can. Another thing Ted would have to deal with - hunger. Something told him they weren’t going to allow him to eat more than the rest. 

During the night, they had another one-hour break and then, after twelve hours of fleeing, they were allowed to sleep until daybreak. Ted fell asleep, despite his worries. He did not know how the others were faring during this time, but he did know the sun came up too early and he was not fully rested yet. Looking at the sleepy faces of the people that slept around him, they too have not had enough time to fully recover from the rough path they’d walked and which they’d have to continue today.

Dawn broke. They had made it to the morning. In their sleep, they were not slaughtered by the Hive so that they could join. There was no sign of the Hive anywhere, and most were happy to see another sunrise, to see another day. 

The suppliers must have gathered before dawn with the leadership. They sat away from the group, where they were talking to one another in a soft tone, trying not to wake anyone up who may still be sleeping. Soon after Ted had woken up, it seemed the suppliers and leadership were done with their conversation. Ted watched them and wondered what they were talking about and when he was going to have his next meal.

Then Shay came. She ran to him and nearly tackled him, grabbing him in a crushing hug. He did not push her off or tell her off - he simply hugged her back. She was safe. They were both safe, they’d made it and not a single infected person was in sight. All things considered, they were pretty good. 

“Are you okay?” Shay asked him. She did not let go.

“Not really,” Ted answered truthfully. He would not let go unless she decided she wanted to stop. “And you?”

Shay sighed deeply. He could feel her breathe. 

“I miss Paul.”

“We had to leave him,” he responded. “Couldn’t be saved.”

“You don’t know that,” Shay said in response. She broke free from the hug and watched Ted with disappointment, as to lightly chastise him for not believing in Paul and his abilities. She wasn’t mad, only disappointed and sad that Paul was not with them now. 

Ted wanted to rebut. He needed to say something in return, needed to have the last word. He opened his mouth, but was interrupted by the suppliers and leadership. They started to wake up the people for an announcement. Some of them sat up or were still laying, while others stood up to continue their trek. 

They had made a plan which they patiently explained to the people. Their group would be split into six smaller groups, one for each member of the leadership, to increase the chances of some of them surviving and reaching another survivor camp. If one group was caught, the others could still go on. Ted, Shay, and Callie ended up in the same group.

After everyone said their goodbyes, they all went their separate ways.

The group was silent. Not everyone seemed as happy to have Ted in the group, but they were happy to still have each other, someone who would lead them north (or at least what Ted perceived to be north), a bag of supplies and a gun.

“We could have saved Paul,” Shay then said, breaking the silence.

Ted shrugged. What could he say? He didn’t want to leave it into the air, unanswered.

“Maybe.”

_No._ Paul was lost. But he couldn’t say it out loud to Shay. Not anymore. 

They were safe. Fuck Paul. Yeah, it was sad he didn’t make it, but he was infected. At least he and his niece - uninfected - were safe and going to a safe haven. 


	26. Nothing left to lose

Paul ran. Alone, with the enemy at his heels. He had not passed the survivors yet, had not met them yet. He had gone in the right direction, then - away from the resistance, the camp, the Hive. 

He was still running, though. He hadn’t stopped since his impromptu performance. He had seen how the day turned to night and day again. The sun rose above the treetops behind him. He did not stop to look. 

The Hive had made not one, but two big mistakes. They had started chasing too late. They had started with their usual stalker walk without realizing Paul would not run out of energy. He was still one of them, even as an opponent, and only started running afterward when Paul already had a substantial head start. 

Paul feared he’d taken his flight and head start for granted. He’d run slower at some point, had been more cautious when it comes to overhanging branches, roots poking out and thorns. He avoided those to the best of his abilities; the Hive just ran through because it ultimately did not care about the well-being of the host bodies, so long as they served their purposes. 

Paul stopped and turned. The sunrise… did the survivors see the sunrise? They must have, because when Paul closed his eyes and focused on seeing through the eyes of those drones closest to him, they were all focused on chasing Paul. Not even one of them had gone towards the group of survivors.

Good. He’d enraged the Hive enough to make them all follow him. That’s good.

But also bad. Because they would not stop until they had him this time until they’d torn his heart out and his brain and infected him again to a more successful result. They would run forever. Paul did not want that. 

He needed to hide.

But there was no hiding spot. Not yet. He’d have to look for a suited one. 

He ran for a little longer and found a hole in the ground, a cavity under a tree, hidden from sight by roots. Paul had almost run past it himself and immediately pushed himself through the small hole. He pressed himself to the walls of dirt and made himself as small as possible. 

And Paul realized too late he was a part of the Hive. The music pounding in his ear reminded him and it was too late to crawl out without being spotted. 

So Paul leaned against the walls, pinched his eyes closed and drowned his thoughts with one overwhelming _don’t find me don’t find me please don’t find me I’m not here don’t find me don’t find me_. He was so stressed out, he was trembling and maybe he even sweated. Either way, the Hive approached and Paul could only hope. 

The footsteps came close, too close to his taste, but they did not stop. They just continued and continued and continued and,_ oh, God, please don’t find me_! Each thump he thought it was over, each thump scared him and pushed him deeper and deeper into the mental hole he was digging, deeper and deeper into the scared don’t find me. and the deeper he was pushed, the longer it took him to climb back out of that hole and realize they were gone.

He opened his eyes. There was nobody around. He only had limited sight out of his hiding spot, but there was nobody. There were no footsteps, their war song only sounding vaguely in the distance, while the drums in his ear did not diminish. How far away did they go? Were they still chasing him?

They must be. They didn’t see him.

Oh God, they didn’t see him.

He let out a laugh - one good laugh, before he covered his mouth with his hands, out of fear that some lingering host body may be around to hear. 

They did not find him. 

They just ran past him.

_What the fuck?_

Paul was still infected - the blue shit hadn’t just left his body while he focused on not being found. He just - I don’t know, he somehow managed to override the Hive’s control, if only for a little while and for one specific thing, but he’d done it. Did the Hive even know Paul had influenced its drones to pass him by? Or had Paul erased the location where he was hiding out of the Hive? Whatever exactly happened he didn’t know, but the good part was: the Hive didn’t know either.

This was perfect. Strange, but perfect. The drums were still in his ear, the connection still intact, but they were not as threatening anymore. Paul even thought they sounded hopeful now, a little optimistic. He beat the Hive. Well, it wasn’t destroyed, but he didn’t compromise himself. He defied the Hive again.

And man, was that scary. Did he even want this power? He didn’t know what to think about it, what to think about the entire thing. What should he do? Where should he go? He was alone and unsure and god, he did not like to be in this position at all.

Hands in his pocket, he stumbled upon the vial with the cure. He frowned and took it out of his pocket, glaring at it. It had been in there. He’d forgotten he had it.

Could he drink it?

Wait, wait, wait, what, no, not yet. Not yet! He should think this through - properly - before he made any decision or even thought about consuming the cure. Which was helped produce with his own blood. Gross. But also helpful.

Okay. Let’s get this straight. There were two options currently before him: taking the cure or not. 

So, what if he didn’t take it? Then the future would be uncertain. The link with the Hive would be intact. He could be more confident in his abilities to fight off the Hive, helped by this one moment. He was confident, he sang (yuk) something the Hive hadn’t wanted him to, he could take on the Hive and survive. Which was good and all, but he couldn’t ignore the underlying threat it posed. One moment of enormous stress might be enough to pull him right back in. Two moments could debilitate him. Three moments all after one another and he was gone. And surviving all alone, in this world, was a stressful business, even while being able to know where the Hive was. 

And what if he took the cure? Then his fate would somehow be even more unclear. There were once again two options: he died or lived through the grenade explosion. And the outcome of this event would determine how his life would be.

If he died and took the cure - then that’s it. Game over, join Emma in the afterlife and hope it was not just a black timeless void. He wouldn’t feel it or know it, but if the Hive came across his body, if it wasn’t too decomposed, they could just seize it and use the body as a puppet, another drone walking the earth. 

If he lived and took the cure - now that would be interesting, wouldn’t it? His breathing would have a function again; he would be able to feel again. He would regain his humanity, the blue shit out of his body, back to being him. And alone. In a forest, near a place he barely knew. And the things he had missed in the past - heat, hunger, thirst, bodily reactions to his emotions - he would have to learn to deal with these things again. He’d need to find something warmer to wear until the spring finally introduced some more warmth into the world. Would he even like eating or drinking? Would he be consistent? Would he be able to deal with a grumbling stomach, a dry throat, cold toes? But he’d be human again, too, so if the Hive then got to him, there was no turning back. 

Three viable options.

Don’t take the cure. Go on as usual. Hope there's not a lot of stressful moments.

Take the cure and die. Possibly be infected again.

Take the cure and live. Learn to be human again and survive, until found and possibly be infected again.

Paul did not know how long he thought about these options; he had no tool to measure time with except for the sun, and he wasn’t very good at that. He just knew the sun had moved its position and time had passed. 

In the end, he knew there was one thing that he really wanted. There was one option he could not refuse, even if it wasn’t the best option. He made peace with it.

Paul looked at the vial and nodded to himself. _Okay._ There it goes.

He had nothing left to lose, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this probably wasn't what you were hoping for, but this is how it ends (unless I revisit this in the future). Either way, there's a short prequel-ish companion piece coming next week, so keep your eyes open.  
Now, there's just one thing I need to do: Thank you for your comments and kudos and bookmarks, but most importantly, thank you for reading this. I hope you enjoyed.


	27. Autonomy - First day of spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have debated for a long time about whether I should write a sequel. This story had been written as a stand-alone, and I liked its open end as well as the journey Paul went through. I enjoyed reading your comments and reactions to certain events. 
> 
> But the idea for a sequel kept tugging at me, and now Nothing left to lose is the first part of a duology.
> 
> Its sequel, which will be titled Autonomy, focuses on Shay instead of on Paul and is set five years in the future. There'll be more familiar characters from TGWDLM and Black Friday alike as well as new OCs who live in a survivor community on the other side of America. Though Shay is the main focus, plenty will happen to the characters from the Hatchetfield shows. I promise it'll be just as good and heart-breaking as Nothing left to lose is.
> 
> That being said, you don't have to read Autonomy if you don't want to, or if you like this story as a stand-alone. I'm aware the sequel won't be for everyone, though I do hope to welcome you back in Autonomy, coming to this website on October 18th.
> 
> But until then, here is a sneak-peek of the first chapter:

“Shay. Shay, wake up!”

Shay groaned, clutching the blanket and keeping her eyes closed. It had been late yesterday and it was one of those nights where she couldn’t seem to fall asleep, no matter how hard she tried. After a short night, she was still tired and wanted to stay in bed. If only his now-annoying voice could leave her alone.

“Come on, Shay!”

“Shut up, Tim.” She rolled over in the bed and pulled the blanket over her head. “I’m sleeping.”

Based on where his voice came from, Tim was probably standing by the door. He needed just two steps to come close enough to pull the blanket down to her waist.

Shay opened her eyes and glared at him. How dare he?

“It’s the first day of spring,” Tim said. “They’re expecting everyone in about an hour at the village square.”

Right. First day of spring. Was that today already? She thought it was still further away. The year couldn’t have passed that quickly, could it? It must have, otherwise Tim wouldn’t have disturbed her to inform her about it.

“In an hour?”

Tim nodded once and Shay replied with a playful smile.

“That means I’ve still got time.” She grabbed the blankets and pulled them up again, trying to find the previous comfortable position again. Tim allowed it to happen. He shook his head with a loving smile on his face and folded his arms.

“You are so slow in the morning, I thought I’d wake you up on time so you won’t be late. Again.”

“I’ll be there, Tim,” she responded in a slightly annoyed voice. “Don’t you worry about me.”

Tim Houston was many things. An aspiring nurse. A compassionate person. An annoying little shit whenever he wanted to be. Someone who follows the rules whenever he wasn’t annoying. Her naïve and caring boyfriend.

Tim sat down on the bed and looked at her. He planted a kiss on her forehead and stroked his hand lovingly through her hair before he stood up again.

“I’ll see you in at the square, then,” he said. He walked out of the room pulling the door behind him. His steps echoed in the hallway, downstairs, and Shay realized something was wrong. However, she was too sleepy to figure it out right away. Then, after ten minutes, she figured it out.

The door didn’t fall into the lock.

Shay groaned. Tim had pulled the door behind him, she heard it creak, but he hadn’t pulled it into the lock. He was doing that to get her out of bed. She hated being in bed with the door open – it was a barrier that creaked when opened, a warning system for her to wake up. Even now she was awake, she could not stand it being open. But if she stood up to push it closed, she wouldn’t be able to sleep or even rest again. But if she stayed in bed, the opened door and sounds from the hallway would bother her, also making her unable to sleep or rest a little.

Her strong dislike of an opened door won from the desire to sleep a couple of minutes longer. She threw the blanket off of her and stepped to the door. She lightly pushed the door until she heard the familiar ‘click’ of the door falling into the lock.

“Happy now, Tim?” He got his way – she was awake and out of bed, in time to get ready for today. She waited for a second, half expecting Tim to have waited outside the door or house to tell her that, yes, she was satisfied. But she did not hear his voice, so Tim had already gone to the square.

Even in his absence, he got her so far as to close the door. He knew her too well.


End file.
